


Sun Gods

by Mikoinajar



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alpha Marco Bott, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Duke Marco Bott, M/M, My First Fanfic, Omega Jean Kirstein, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Prince Jean Kirstein, Set somewhere in the medieval or enlightment period, Slow Build, Slow Burn, depiction of violence and discrimination
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22479613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikoinajar/pseuds/Mikoinajar
Summary: The Kingdom of Trost is thrown into turmoil when the King suddenly dies. At the same time, the king’s only son presents his Second Gender, but to the aversion of the prince’s family, he’s an omega. When the ongoing war with the Mountain Clans is soon reaching its breaking point the Kingdom of Trost needs help from the Land of Jinae.Jean Kirschtein is only sixteen when he’s married off in a political marriage. He knows, he is the rightful successor to the throne but with his father’s sudden death and him presenting as an omega there is nothing he can do when his Uncle takes the throne.This is the story of a boy who will grow into a man and the man he marries who only cares for his land, old books and his merle shepherd Canya. A man who has stored away the darkness that consumes his heart and the boy who has not forgotten where he comes from.  It’s a story of growth, of love and of restoring a kingdom. Of sun-kissed freckles and a whole bunch of swears.
Relationships: Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein
Comments: 21
Kudos: 66





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:  
> This is my first fic; furthermore, English is not my native language, I hope it will be possible to enjoy the story nevertheless. I’m still not sure how many chapters there will be, -I haven’t planned too far ahead haha.
> 
> This story was inspired by another fanfic, though I have looked through the archive I haven’t been able to find the title of the work. If anybody can see resemblances and know which work it is, please tell me, so I can give them credit!

The small bare feet padded through the hall, resonating between the hall’s curved roof far above the child’s head. The darkness was only interrupted by the chandeliers flicking flames granting the hall with a soft glow. The child moved further down the hall, on his way to the kitchen where he would ask the headchef for a cup of warm milk as she so often offered him on the seldom nights his dreams were invaded by despair. 

He would wake bathed in sweat, feeling as if a heavy weight had momentarily left his chest, he swore that he had seen the last traces of a foreign shadow disappearing from his chest in the night’s darkness. When he told his nanny, she told him that it must have been a mare; however, the young boy did not understand how such a good-natured animal such as a mare could do such horrid things! His own mare, a red dun named Zorya showed him nothing but patience and kindness. As such, he could not make sense of the nanny’s explanation. It could simply not be a mare, he concluded puffing his chest out remarking that it was a matter of fact that an animal such as a mare simply could not sit on his chest, of which his chest was not large enough, neither would he live to see the morning had such a weight been placed on his body. His nanny had only laughed softly and stroked his hair affectionately and they had gotten him in fresh clothes.

This night was different though.There was a thick smell in the air making his head fill with memories until they were swimming in the back of his mind. The sweet smell made him feel dizzy the child thought that should he compare it with anything he in his short life had experienced, it felt like having his head underwater. He wondered if they had been baking in the kitchen. For what else could emit such a smell? 

The smell seemed to crawl into every nook and cranny of his body, making him walk slower until he recognised the door into the small study. Like in a trance, his fingers reached for the door handle and the memory washed over him like a tide. 

“Hello little highness, of what have you been up to this time?” The voice called out while her dark eyes surveyed the boy sulking by the small study of where he usually took his literature lessons. For now, the boy only crossed his arms and stared of to the side. A faint smile crossed her lips as she squatted beside him carefully placing her slim hands on his busted knees. She inspected him more closely, small cuts decorated his fair skin and bruises were forming where he had taken his fair share of small angry fists. 

“I didn’t start,” the boy muttered in a small voice still not looking at her. The sun shined through the window laying its sunny fingers on the boy’s face, making his eyes shine brightly. His nanny often spoke of how the God of the Sun must have given him two pieces of the sun, right now they were shining brightly, but his amber eyes had yet to meet hers. His nanny further spoke of his hair a mystical two-toned colour, dark by its roots grew into golden locks, locks that his nanny often would let her gentle fingers run through while telling him how the God of the Sun must’ve kissed his hair when he was born. 

He was still keeping quiet, even though she knew he had been a fight with the other kids at court, she wanted to hear his side of the story. Nobody else seemed interested in knowing the truth, he was expecting to behave, though he was known for being ill tempered and stubborn by the court, she knew that he had a heart of the finest gold. A so-called warrior of justice he wouldn’t let go of injustice of any kind be it against humans or animals alike, of small things such as some children getting more treats than others, to large problems such as not treating people equally regardless of sexuality and gender. The young boy seemed to understand the inequality of the kingdoms population, yet he was still a kid and while taught about kingship he was more interested in climbing trees and teasing the servants. He was just a child; the title of Crown Prince was nothing more than that: a title. 

He sucked in a breath of air as he came back to, he’s eyes staring blindly on the door and his hand still raised mid movement. He shook his small head and took a step back, noticing that the smell was becoming stronger. He slowly peeled away his eyes from the door and began walking further down the hall taking a turn continuing down one of the many corridors in the castle. Soon he found himself walking passed the stairs towards the south wing. “Jean!” He stopped abruptly looking around searching for the source of the voice. It took him another second to realise that the voice must have come from inside his head. Still nothing more than a slur he stood still trying to decipher whom the voice belonged to. The voice kept ringing in his head leaping at the back of his mind like waves on the shore. 

“JEAN, COME BACK!” He heard the shrill voice yell but he was already taking off as fast as his short legs could carry him. Down the hall taking a left turn and up the stairs. The beating of his heart sang in his chest, his eyes was practically sparkling and he clutched the item in his right hand tightly to insure not losing it, should his cousin reach him, though he doubted the possibility considering the size of her. He turned to look over his shoulder insuring that she hadn’t yet called for the servants help, when he ran right into something soft 

“Umpf!” The air left his lungs as his body bounced back, he landed on his behind but his fall was cushioned by the soft red carpet adoring the hall and stairs ‘an absolute nightmare to clean’ according one of the servants. For now Jean lifted his head looking through dark eyelashes with amber eyes, in front of him standing with crossed arms was his nanny. She was but fourteen summers young but had the wisdom of the courts oldest, so Jean thought at least. She stood there in a long dress simply decorated and dyed a delicate blue, her dark brown hair was placed in a confusing up-do and her skin was kissed by the sun. She was nothing but beautiful and Jean was proud to have her as his nanny. Not many children was lucky enough to have a young nanny, but nobody else could keep up with the boy’s fast thinking, so had his father said. 

“Your highness,” his eyes locked with hers, bright and warm like honey and spring fields, however right now they made him sit straighter and clutch the item harder. 

“Yes miss?” He answered smiling the best he could. “What have you done now? Lady Abigail is in much distress, asking most profoundly after you” Oh, so she had called for the servants… a snicker settled on the boy’s face but was soon wiped off when the nanny lifted a single eyebrow. 

“By Helios, tell me you didn’t do what you did last time at least?” She asked.  
He got up, brushing away invisible dirt with one hand before holding out the other one as an answer to her question. He turned his fist palm up before letting go of his grip on the item in his hand. A small necklace with a single red ruby was laying in the palm of his hand.

“It is for you,” he said with a small voice taking a step closer towards her. “You deserve it, because you are the best nanny I ever have had!” He explained further when she had not reached for the necklace neither said a word, she just looked… sad? 

“Oh your highness,” she sighed reaching out but instead of taking the necklace she stroked through his hair gently.

“Silly you, I’m happy already, you need not give me anything, your happiness and comfort is most important to me,” she said smiling and gently touched his cheek. However, something felt wrong, like she had learned the words somewhere, like they weren’t really her own.

“Jean,” her voice seemed fragile and as he once again looked into her eyes, they shined with a simple adoration that could only be described as familial love. 

“Thank you, I mean it Jean, never forget the kindness that grows so strong inside of you.” Her hands caressed his cheeks before she held his small head between her hands and lightly clutched it. “Never forget that kindness, promise me?” Her dark eyes seemed to swim in secrets, but Jean didn’t know what kind. He cared for her thoughts though and the love she gave him, so he made a small firm nod feeling like he wouldn’t be able to form any words without them getting stuck in his throat. 

Soon after knights and servants came rushing up the stairs and through the hall. His nanny tried to settle things calmly but his cousin had stirred up turmoil and he was with little care taken to the grand hall where both his cousin Abigail, Uncle Olbricht, his parents, the king and queen, as well as the court, court servants, knights and what not had gathered. Jean, the young highness known for being both strong headed and spiteful carefully gave back the necklace and apologised for his action, making the whole room silent. The boy only had one thought, and that was to keep his promise to Melisende, his beloved nanny. 

Melisende, Melisende, Melisende. His heart called, the boy looked around confused finding himself in the dimly lit corridor alone once again. He felt like he was swimming underwater with how strong the smell was becoming. He wondered what was going on? He was not particular scared but he felt an untamed unease settle in his heart that made him hurry down the corridor and closer to the smell. 

By now, the boy had gotten used to the memories abruptly taking over any and all of his mind. They felt more and more like his present reality rather than a fragment of the past. Even so, when he found himself lingering by the banquet hall, the sweet smell ever present, he felt like this was no ordinary memories. He believed, though young he was, that this would be of great importance for the rest of his life, the boy, known for being of the dramatic kind, felt this was no exaggeration.  
He started walking again, still dizzy and with a strange mixture of exhaustion and anticipation curling in his stomach, he looked out from one of the large windows adorning the hall. The sky was bleak like the bottom of the ocean, the crescent moon was accompanied by more stars then the boy knew numbers. Once again, he felt memories washing over him.

“Do you ever miss where you come from?” The boy’s voice was nothing more than a whisper in the darkness of the room. He snuggled further down his thick goose feather duvet, only leaving his small nose and amber eyes visible.

The large moon hanging high on the night sky illuminated the shape of her. She stood by the window her arms holding around her slim body. He could barely see her head turn slowly towards him.

“Only on starless nights,” she answered truthfully, her thoughts leaving traces of nostalgia in her voice. 

“Like tonight?” He asked squinting his eyes looking out the window into the ocean dark sky only lit up by the moon.

“Yes, like tonight-” she let her fingers stray following the lines of the window, tracing the moon on the glass. “-the moon alone on the sky, shining all on its own… it, it leaves me lonely.” She stood another moment before seeming to remember where she was and with whom she was speaking to, she stepped away from the window and came over to the side of his bed.

“Now little highness-” he looked up at her, she was smiling but her eyes were hidden in the secrets of the night. “-it is time for bed.” She tucked him in and stroked his golden hair.

“Melisende, please tell me a story?” He asked in the silence. Her hand stilled. 

“Please? I cannot sleep and the night is far too long,” he pleaded and she smiled overbearing.

“Only one, little highness.” He smiled back at her with shining eyes, “Only one,” he promised.

When she had finished the story Jean still had thoughts swimming in his head, and he felt the need to voice them aloud, that this was a night he would never again have.

“Melisende?” He reached out under the duvet finding her hand cold and fragile. 

“You do remember that you have a home here? With me?” She smiled at him, with a ghost of a smile trailing her lips. “I do know,” she answered but the answer felt hollow to the boy’s ears.

“Melisende?” 

“Yes?”

“May I tell you a secret?” She smiled genuinely now, “Of course you can”

“And you will not under any circumstances tell anyone?” She shook her head. “Your secret stays safe, you know that Jean.”

“Sometimes I feel lonely too-“ he held her hand tighter “-sometimes I feel like the moon alone on the sky…”

“Oh Jean-“ 

“But then I remember that the moon shines because the sun exist, so actually the moon is never all alone, it can only shine because the sun is with it, right?” she seemed rather confused by his analogy but nodded nevertheless.

“And even though the stars are not always visible it does not mean they are not there, right? They just hide behind the clouds. And you always tell me that clouds disturb ones thoughts… so actually I’m not alone at all, because father is here, my cousins and the servants. All the stars are here even if I sometimes forget.” He held a pause seeming to collect his thoughts before he said:

“And you are here Melisende-“ he hid under the duvet as he whispered the last bit “-you are the brightest star”

“And what about your sun?” she asked smiling

“I have yet to find my sun” his cheeks flushed 

The small boy had finally reached his original destination. The kitchen was dark and cold at night and there was no one baking, obviously he thought, the boy wasn’t stupid, he knew that the suffocating smell was not one of baking. However, the smell had begun to twist into something else, from being so sweet he felt he could taste it a new feeling dug into his flesh and fear began rising in his body. He had felt this fear before, a fear produced by confusion and others bigotry. 

“She can’t stay here, her kind is worth nothing in this kingdom!” A deep voice hissed.  
The boy needn’t look with his amber eyes to know that it was his cousin Estienne speaking ill, but of whom Jean wasn’t sure. Therefore, he pressed his ear closer to the closed door trying to make out with whom his cousin was speaking with. The next voice was continuously shrill whatever mood the lady was in, Jean had learned this after thousands of dreadful family dinners. His cousin Abigail was twice his age and trice his size, she hissed back: 

“ I knew she was trouble! Knew it from the start… she got this look only her kind got” Jean was not less confused, what ‘kind’ did they speak so badly of, and whom in the castle of which was his beloved home, was this ‘kind’? 

“Oh will you stop this cowardice,” The boy perked up by his father’s voice, “Say it, the name of her kind, don’t be cowards!” The cousins seemed taken aback if their silence was anything to go by. Seconds past before the shrill voice of his cousin Abigail abruptly cut through the quietness that had covered the room like a heavy duvet.

“Omega! Omega!,” She sneered sounding sick just by having to say the word. 

“Omegas like her doesn’t belong here in the Kingdom of Trost. You know so as well dear uncle.”  
A silence went by before she continued in a whisper: 

“Even if your son is ever so fond of her, don’t keep supporting her just because of the boy…” 

“Melisende!” Jean exclaimed in a whisper, his hand flew to his mouth when he heard scrambling of shoes in the room, they gained speed and in no time, the door flung open, the large body of his farther illuminated by the room’s fireplace emerged. The large rubies adorning the golden crown placed on his golden locks carried a weight as invisible to the eye as it was evident to those with wit. Jean however was both too naïve and young to understand the importance of the ruby crown nor what he had overheard, behind the heavy curtains with the golden ornaments he only saw the sad look adorning the blue of his father’s eyes. The door was closed again. Minutes past before the small boy came out from his hiding place the voices of his cousins and father had quiet down. He overheard only little more, mostly speculations of when Jean would show signs but what kind of signs Jean himself wasn’t sure of. 

These hushed conversations became more frequently as the weeks past, Jean learned more in those weeks of snooping around than he had of years of literature lessons. He learned that these so-called ‘omegas’ where not welcomed in his home Trost, that they were rare beings but was not valued like the rarity of rubies, gold and diamonds, something Jean didn’t understand. He also learned that the royal bloodline of the Kirschtein family was made up of Alphas, only a few cousins and lower rank members were Betas. Jean quickly caught on that this especially dismayed his cousin Abigail and cousin Estienne the children of his father’s brother and Jean’s eldest Uncle Olbricht. They often spoke of the Second Gender Laws, most often the lack hereof, there were three main laws:

§1 No omega shall take one partner for life, they may not bound nor marry another being.

§2 No omega shall carry nor give birth to any child.  
§2.1 in case of the law being broken, the child will be placed under the Regional Social Community Corps (RSCC) who will decide whether the child is fit for adoption.

§3 Omegas have the right to live in the Eastern Region of the Kingdom of Trost. However, they are prohibited from living in the Western, Northern and Southern Regions of the Kingdom.  
§3.1 Is this broken the Military Police Corps (MPC) can and will place the omega under arrest.

Jean’s cousin often spoke of the Law of Life, a fourth law that was still discussed frequently between lawmen, the court’s men and the king. However, they never mentioned what the law included.

This night was different, he thought as he reached yet another hall. He had left behind the kitchen long ago and was now searching for the smell.  
He had reached the entry hall; the smell was all consuming making his throat dry and an unknown feeling pulsated through his blood vessels. He hid in the shadows when he heard voices coming from the hall. They were shrill and rung like thunder against the walls of the hall. 

“I beg of you, please do not do this! Anything but this!” A voice begged Jean knew all too well the owner of the voice: Melisende. 

“Your highness I’ve been nothing but loyal to the Kingdom, to you and to the crown prince!” She further spoke in a rush, as if her life depended on it. Jean saw the figure of Melisende standing hunched, on both of her sides stood knights holding her arms in tight grasps. 

“Oh of what loyalty do you speak of omega?” sneered his cousin Abigail. 

“You, merely a servant girl, you have done nothing out of the ordinary. Instead you have kept to yourself never learning the culture of the Kingdom you claim loyalty to. Do not think we do not know that at night you pray to foreign gods that do not belong in the Kingdom of Trost!”

“And we know how you have been whispering nothing but foolishness to the Crown Prince, leaving him unsuited for leadership!” Said his cousin Estienne with disgust. 

“I have not meant to do any of the things you claim. I merely taught the Crown Prince good from bad, about the kindness your highness also think highly of!” 

“Omegas like you do not know anything about kingship, do not claim such things!” Estienne shouted, spit flying from his mouth. 

“You” he pointed at her, as tears started rolling down her cheeks, her frail body falling to the marble floor. “-you are nothing. You hear me? Nothing. Just a disgusting omega!” At this point she was sobbing loudly. 

“Your highness! Oh your highness! I beg you, I have served your kingdom well, I have cared for your only child. I have been by his side while he was still walking on insecure legs. I have been nothing but loyal!” She sobbed. Jean stood confused by the scene unfolding, his heart slowly began cracking but he had not yet figured out why. He just knew that he wished he was dreaming, begged he woke up soon. 

“Your highness! Just ban me to the Eastern region I will live an ordinary life, never speaking of the court,” she cried out trying to crawl towards Jeans farther, but she was held back by the knights. 

“I will become nothing.” She all but whispered. Jean noticed that she was breathing heavily, that she was sweating and seemingly was ill. Had she cut the flu? Were they scared he would catch it from her? Was it a serious illness?

“I have heard enough.” His father’s voice was stripped of any feelings. The hall fell quiet, only the sniffles of Melisende could be heard along the thick sweet smell, that Jean was suspecting came from Melisende. The knights was wearing clothes around their mouth and noses, as if they were trying to protect themselves from the smell. The king walked closer, until he stood in front of her. 

“You have been good to my son, child. You have been kind and showed empathy and patience. You have shown respect for the crown. You have served us well.” He squatted and lightly touched her shoulder. Melisendes body relaxed instantly by his farther touch. Warily she looked up at the king his blue eyes were still. 

“Your highness-“ she began but stopped when the king’s eyes fell and a look of immense sadness overtook them. “I’m sorry, my child,” he whispered. He stood up abruptly. 

“You have served well, but your loyalty has always been elsewhere, do not claim otherwise. Against the laws of the Kingdom were you given the chance to stay regardless of your Second Gender. But I cannot see through fingers with the obscene actions you have committed.” Jean could hear the cracks move up and around his heart, what in the world was going on? 

“But your highness, I did not-“ Melisende cried out. “I did not do it! I did not do anything! It is a lie! You must believe me! I was forced, your highness please believe me, I beg of you!” 

“Silence!” Olbricht yelled. “You will be silent when your king speaks!”

“By the Laws of the Kingdom of Trost-“ his farther looked away his hands clutched in fists as he spoke the final words. 

“-I sentence you to death.” 

“NO!” the two voices rung in the hall, Jeans body was moving on its own, leaving his hiding place he ran at full speed. Melisende was screaming of lies and conspiracy, of hatred for her kind, of the many innocent lives taking from them without reason. And Jean was running with tears rushing down his small cheeks.

“No father! Please don’t!” The boy screamed his voice coming out shrill. He reached his nanny pushing through the knights holding her.

“Whatever she did, it cannot be serve enough to result in such a horrid sentence!” He said holding onto the torso of his nanny, whose heart he felt thumping loudly like it was trying to burst out of her chest. 

“Jean, what are you doing here?” His father said but wished no answer to his question; it did not matter at this point, so Jean knew. He instead held Melisende tighter who in turn had turned quiet.

“Jean get away from her,” Cousin Abigail spat out crossing her arms.

“No.” He said firmly, his amber eyes speaking of defying anything they may say. Nothing they said could convince him that Melisende had committed any crime. She could not have, he knew her well enough to know this. 

“Boy, get away from her this instant,” Uncle Olbricht sneered, taking a step forward, but the king held his hand up stopping his brother. 

“Jean, the sentence have been given and as such it will be fulfilled. Now let go of her and come here.” His father’s voice was stern and demanding. 

“NO!” The boy yelled out, “No, no, no, you will take it back! Take it back father! Please take it back,” he begged tears kept pouring out from the corners of his amber eyes, a light in them only a small flicker of hope back. Oh he knew, he knew the outcome of this. Her fate had already been sealed. 

“Take him away.” His father ordered the knights not holding Melisende. 

“No don’t do this!” He yelled as large hands took hold of his small body, he kicked and screamed, holding onto Melisende. She had nothing done since the initial screaming, had she accepted her fate? But her eyes was burning he saw it in her dark irises.

“Melisende! Don’t keep quiet!” He said frantically shaking her while, the knights tried to pull him away from her. She looked at him, a small smile settling on her lips.

“Oh Jean, “ she whispered tears rolling down her cheeks. “My necklace Jean-” she continued.

“-Take it.” A small moment of clarity washed over the boy and he did as she told him while wrestling out of the knights grasp once again. 

“Let go of me!” he yelled and used his elbows to hit the knights. While trying to get hold of the necklace around his beloved nanny’s neck. He grasped it while being pulled away from her, she was pulled forward with him caught by the necklace. However, he kept the necklace in his grasp and as she was pulled away by the knights the lock broke leaving Jean with the only memory of his nanny. 

“Take her away.” The king ordered, turning his back to her and began to walk away. Jean was incoherently crying calling Melisendes name repeatedly. However, no pleads or prayers would change her fate. She was dragged away in silence while Jean was left with the necklace tightly clutched against his chest. He heard it clearly when his heart broke. 

He woke bathed in sweat his nanny’s name lingering on his lips unfolding as a mourning whisper. His breath was still erratic and in the dark room, he only heard his own breath. For a moment that was all he registered: the intake of air, the exhale of bad dreams. Breathing in. Breathing out. In. Out. In. Out.  
Then he heard it, the turmoil outside the door, running footsteps, loud voices, murmurs and shouting. The young man was nothing less than confused, first the nightmares now this? 

The door abruptly flew open and the light spilled in touching his fair skin, the golden hair, his amber eyes and reflecting in the golden amulet laying heavy around his neck.

“Jean!” the head butler looked mortified stood shaking by the door.

“Your highness, it is your father-“ A memory old and broken tried breaking through the concrete walls he had built around his heart, it felt awfully lot like the night his mother had lost her life. He knew before the words spilt out of the butler’s mouth.

“-He is dead. The king is dead.”


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean has to come to terms with his new life without his father. The crowning seems far away and at last, Jean present his Second Gender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with the first chapter, we are beginning Jean's journey. I hope you will enjoy the chapter.

His body is hot. That’s the first thing he notices when he wakes up. The next is that he is sweating profoundly and that his throat is as dry as the miles-long desert that divides the Kingdom of Trost and the Mountain Clans. The bones in his body are aching, screaming of exhaustion. Is he sick? He ponders while trying to sit up, but the whole room begins spinning the moment he lifts his head from the pillow. 

“Urgh!” He exclaims and lies his head on the pillow once again. He tries to swallow on nothing, but chokes on the air instead, making him cough. He feels uncomfortable like his body is too small and too big for his soul all at once. He wants to rip and tear at his skin so that it doesn’t feel so tight against his flesh. He turns over in his bed looking at the curtains that are still covering the windows while the light is seeping through. It must be early morning then. His head feels like mush like he is swimming underwater, but he doesn’t exactly feel ill, it’s more a swamped daze. He does, however, feel something warm coil in his stomach, and it makes him worry.

He turns again, breathing seems to only get harder everything gets harder: moving, thinking. Pearls of sweat are dancing down his fair skin, falling down onto the silk sheet that swallows them. Something is pulsating a little further down from his stomach. A pain he has never felt before, but one that his body seems to know well or at least is aware existed. The silk sheet is like soft touches on his skin and it makes a heat pour from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. A hunger finally salivates his mouth making his nostrils flare. Another movement against the sheet makes him let out a low sigh while closing his eyes. This hunger he has met many times before, but never like this. Never this raw. The hunger keeps growing making him deliberately move around on the sheet, letting its fibres touch him, up his spine and against his chest. Jean's thoughts are empty and he can’t hold onto them, but one keeps lingering in the back of his mind, licking the back of his ear, whispering of all the late nights alone under the heavy duvet. He is wanting, wanting the comfort of others so to still this hunger of his. The air is heavy in the room and he hungers. ‘Lust’ the voice in his head whispers. He is lusting and he has never felt it as much as he does now. 

The sound of the bells was deafening and vibrated in the large chapel with its golden dome. The bells sang the song of mourning. Outside the sun shone brightly, the sky was blue without clouds in sight, but here in the chapel, it was cold, no warmth seeped through, his body was freezing. He was wearing the golden robes of the royal family. With bowed head, he stood in front of his father’s casket. Sadness should have overwhelmed him but instead, he was feeling nothing. Who was his father really? A king, indeed, but a father? He was not so sure. More often than not, he was greeted not with love but with disappointment and reprimands. Who was his father? A man that did not care, the young man thought. He never loved you, a voice rung in his ear, and you stopped loving him. For many years, Jean had hated his father for the decision he made. The death sentence often haunted him in dreams while he was a child; he heard her begging, felt her tears just to wake up finding that they were his own. He had lost his brightest star, the other stars only shone dimly after that. He felt the necklace around his neck, his only memory of her, every morning he would kiss it to show his love for her, hoping that she was in the paradise of the Sun and Moon-god, the belief she held so dearly. 

The priest began singing and the rest of the gathering soon followed. However, his mouth was too dry to get any words out, only a mumbling left his lips. More than anything else, he was worried about what was to come after the five days of mourning. Would he be crowned? He was the rightful heir and had trained all his life for this, he just did not know if he wanted it. 

“Jean!” He flinched when an elbow was stabbed into his side, he looked to his right to see his cousin Estienne looking sternly at him while nodding ahead. Jean looked up; the priest was looking at him.

“A few words your highness.” Jeans mouth went even drier, for a moment he had forgotten his duty as Crown Prince. He took a step forward while breathing out slowly. The priest smiled sympathetically, definitely misunderstanding Jean's sigh for a mourning exhale. Jean just wasn’t up for lying. He went up the two steps and turned around facing hundreds of people. He cleared his throat. 

“Today is a day of mourning. Today is a day of honouring the memory of our king of whom is not with us anymore.” Jean looked around getting eye contact with some of the attendees, he breathed in and began speaking again: “He was a just king; a man of his word, a human believing in humanity, in equality and in kindness.” He had to bite is lips from not snorting, before he continued: “He was a king that people would follow; a man of leadership, one who knew true kingship. Today we honour this man, for whom past away too early. A man of the people, a man of the Kingdom of Trost. Let us mourn, let us cry, and then let us look forward, for the king will be in heaven looking down upon us, as we continue serving the Kingdom of Trost just like he did.” He bowed his head, walked down the steps, and took his place once again. He could hear the whispering reviews behind him. ‘Beautiful’, ‘too sentimental’, ‘truly capturing the king’ and on and on. Jean did not care for others opinions, it was after all just a big fat lie. His father believed in the monarch’s power, he was no man of the people, just a measly servant of the aristocracy and the crown. He cared more for power than the well-being of the population. Jean hated it, hated spinning lies so people would nod their heads believing the illusion. Did he really want to inherit such a position? What in the world could he, only sixteen summers old, change? 

The ceremony ended not long after with another song and a prayer for those in heaven and those still serving on the human soil. A mourning ceremony was held in the castle, the whole aristocracy was there to show their fake mourning, giving him pitying looks. ‘Look at the boy who was left alone with no parents to take care of him!’ He tasted the bitterness on his tongue. He had walked around the banquet hall for some time now, greeting the guests thanking for the condolences of whom was many. People were mostly wearing white, an old tradition of Trost, it was to show the pure form of mourning; that in which the soul was weeping silently, praying for the reconciling of the life they lived. Jean and the royal family were the only ones wearing gold: Moreover, Jean was wearing the royal mourning cape, only worn by the king, his queen and their children. The garment was a white cape adorned with golden embroidery and white fur along the sides. Jeans fair skin turned a snowy white against the fur, but his amber eyes still burned and the golden locks that told tales of his lineage shone brightly. The young man still had the curves of a boy rather than a man, no stubbles grew on his cheeks but while his build was slim it was also strong: he was still continuing his fencing lessons even if he had given up on the rest of his education, all in rejections of what his father stood for. 

He swallowed a yawn and continued walking between all the bodies surrounding him. When he reached one of the doors leading to one of the many corridors, he slipped out of sight. When he closed the door, he leant against it with a sigh closing his eyes. Feelings were flowing inside of him but no words were eloquent enough to describe these feelings. For a time he stood like that without moving, just felt his own heartbeat, his slow breathing, the darkness that engulfed him when he closed his eyes; it was all comforting. 

“-it is most important that the throne is given to someone adequate.” Jean opened his eyes immediately; he heard voices not far from him. Jean’s curiosity got the better of him, and just like when he was a wee boy, the young man began walking on feather-light feet closing in on the voices. From one of the doors, light shone, here the voices were very clear.

“The rightful heir is the king’s son, that cannot be forgotten, the people will question the absence of the boy does he not take to the throne.” A man’s voice spoke.

“Of what I have heard the little highness have not tended to his education for years, what good could he do?” Another voice said bitterly. 

“I believe the Kingdom has better chances of surviving if the king’s brother, the second eldest, takes the throne.” A woman’s voice declared. 

“You mean sir Olbricht? He has some… how to phrase it… special kind of values.” 

“Oh do not start once again with that! I do however see problems with sir Olbricht taking the throne…”

“Why do you speak like one excludes the other? Put the young prince on the throne and let sir Olbricht stand by his side. This way both the people and the court get what they want.” The first voice spoke. Jean took a step back from the door; he had heard enough of these speculations. He turned his back to the conversation and walked away, soon reaching his room. He hoped the five mourning days would end soon.

He was sitting by one of the large windows in the farthest corner of the royal library. Books were stacked around him. His father would have disapproved had he seen what Jean was so absorbed in. All the books were some sort of fairy tales. Jean had grown ever fonder as the years past immersing himself in the stories that took place in faraway countries. Where heroes were good and villains were bad, where there was no in-between. If reality could be like that, he wished. Instead, he lived in a world where not only there was the inequality between man and woman but also between the Second Genders. 

The Second Gender is, much implied by its title Jean may add, another type of gender that all humans have, there is three categories of this Second Gender: Alpha, Beta and Omega. The population mostly consists of betas that for the most part is without any special powers or bodily changes, other than those normal for any human to undergo from child to adult. The same cannot be said about alphas and omegas. About 10 pct. of the population is said to be alphas, their primal instincts are much stronger, meaning that their senses are better than others as well as being physically stronger; they often have a high position in politics, the military and excels in academics. About every 2 months, an alpha goes into a rut, a condition that leaves them with even stronger senses and a high sexual drive, often needed to be satisfied. It last about three days and both males and females have ruts. Omegas represent 5 pct. of the population and are looked down upon by society. In Trost, there is about 2 million omegas that all live in the Eastern Region. Omegas go into something called heat every month, heat makes them especially fertile and they omit a strong sweet smell; every omega has a distinct smell. Under a heat, their smell lures in alphas, which can provoke a rut, it is not unusual that omegas coerce alphas into having sex with them. Most important information about omegas is that both females and males can get pregnant. 

Everything Jean knows about the Second Genders is from the books at the royal library. He had read every one of them, searching for knowledge on omegas, as if reading about them would make him understand the fate of Melisende better. It didn’t help however, omegas were seemingly just lustful creatures that had no special talents and depended on others be it emotionally or economically. What could make Jean mad was the inequality of alphas and betas. Jean scrunched his nose up. How alphas looked down at betas! Alphas more often than not felt superior even though their numbers were few because they held the most important positions: the royal family, lords, lawmen and large merchants. 

Jean disliked the Second Genders, mostly because he himself had yet to present, and it was starting to worry him. Especially now that his father was no longer here, it was important that he had his Second Gender to further legitimize his right to the throne. He knew he would present as an alpha since the royal family had always been alphas. It did, however, worry him, what if he became a beta? While he found nothing wrong with being a beta, he knew that his family, especially his cousins and uncle would disapprove. A king being a beta? It had never been heard of. Therefore, the young man worried and to not let this worry consume him, he indulged in the fairy tale stories, it gave him some peace, if only for a time. He looked out of the window to see the blossoming of flowers, spring was soon over and would be replaced by summer. Three weeks had passed since his father had passed away. He still felt nothing. The days had gone by and was becoming just like the days before the king’s death. Only one thing concerned the young man and that was the throne, no crowning had taken place and he did not know why just that the court was busy. It was soon to become even busier.

Seven weeks after the king’s passing a letter arrived at the court. Jean had for some time now been present at the court because a small part of the court members stood by him, and had insisted that he attended the court meetings to gain knowledge of how it functioned. Jean had learned that the reason for waiting with a crowning was that there had been attacks in the Northern Region of the Kingdom. The region was the closest to the Mountain Clans separated by the Fallugia Desert that stretched for miles. The court simply did not have the capacity to hold the crown voting while also voting for what to do about these attacks. This letter would change everything Jean thought when it was read aloud. 

Scouts had found out that the Mountain Clans had gathered their armies under one and was preparing to attack the Kingdom of Trost with the purpose of conquering the kingdom. The court was in disarray, the two countries were about the same size but the Mountain Clans was known for being brutal and a warrior state which had owned them the nickname ‘titans’. This was a serious threat and it made Jean dizzy just thinking about the consequences of the upcoming war. The court was afraid too, the Kingdom did not have the forces to fight and secure winning. Even with the royal army and the lords’ private armies, they would not have enough to fight against the Mountain Clans who’s army according to the scout were counting millions. One of the court members interrupted the discussion to the dismay of his uncle Olbricht ever-present at these meetings. 

“We cannot wage war without a king!” The man said and most eyes landed on Jean. It was true that something on that scale could not be announced without a king. Without a leader to look up to in such a dire situation, would only lead to chaos in the population. Was he to be crowned? He looked to his uncle, but something was off, his uncle was silent and sat with a stern look on his face. Jean remembered the whispers at the mourning ceremony. Did his uncle want to be crowned? It would make it easier on Jean, but the young man had also begun seeing sides of his uncle that scared him. Was his uncle the right man for the throne? Jean was the successor to the throne, so would his uncle help him as his advisor? And did Jean actually want this? 

“Of course,” Olbricht finally said. “It is of utmost importance that the Kingdom of Trost has a king.” He looked around the assembly and his eyes stopped on Jean looking him up and down. Something moved in those black pupils. 

“I propose that Jean takes to the throne, as it is rightfully his. We will help you the best we can as your advisors.” Olbricht ended. The court members mumbled among each other.

“Then let us prepare the crowning, time is most important.” A court member said. However, it would seem his uncle was not finished.

“Before that, I suggest that we wait until we have taken contact with the Land of Jinae, our Kingdom will need their aid. Whether we like it or not, they might be our only chance of winning this war.” Olbricht said. Jean felt like everything was moving too fast to process, what did his uncle actually propose? Why wait with the crowning, was it not better to contact them with the seal of the king of Trost?

“A crowning does take quite the time to prepare, I suppose. You might be right lord Olbricht. But first, we must vote for the crowning, afterwards, we shall vote on this contact of aid you suggest.” The head court member answered. 

“A reasonable decision,” Olbricht said and nodded, “I shall take my leave so you may set up the voting.” He then bowed and left. Jean mimicked him, stood up, bowed and left. 

The votes fell in favour of his uncle’s propositions. The preparation for the crowning began and a letter addressed to the Parliament of people, the Land of Jinaes highest court, was send off. Jean secluded himself in the royal library, not knowing what to do of himself; he felt he had no one to confide in. All moved on its own without his consent, it seemed that it did not matter what he thought about these decisions, for an upcoming king they sure did not care for him. They did seem to have one worry: His Second Gender. He had yet to present.

His breath is heavy against the pillow making it damp, his nostrils are flaring taking in the sweet smell that smears against the walls and clutches to his body. He denies himself the thought of reason. Instead, he keeps pushing the duvet away just to pull it up again, the warmth of his body is excruciating. His fingers have begun touching his body: the chest, stomach, down his thighs only to come back up. He wants to touch. He wants it so badly.

Lust is a weird thing you see, it drowns all other feelings, it’s an itch that won’t go away, it is like magic consuming your mind making you dance to its spell, binding you in strings until your body moves on its own. 

His hands still when there is frantically knocking on his door. His heart sinks, his body growing limb as reality hits him. He screws his eyes shut and sucks in a breath. He feels as if he is drowning: his body sinking into the dark deep engulfing his existence. Body flowing listlessly, only accompanied by bleak water and the faint light from the bulb of an anglerfish. I fucking wish I were drowning, he thinks as the door is opened and fresh air tries to squeeze through the sweet smell that hangs like heavy fog in the room. 

“Your highness,” the voice of the head butler made Jean sigh in relief but only for a second before the butler spoke again. 

“You are presenting, my highness.” Jean opens his eyes to look at the man as he closes the door behind him and takes a step into the room. Always in black clothes, white gloves that always inspected for dust. The head butler was a man of courtesy; he stood with a straight back and never took for granted his position. 

“Is it bad?” Jean asks his voice rough. He knows the answer; he just likes the pain that is sure to be inflicted when he hears someone else say it.

“Your highness…” the butler stammers. “Say it.” Jean demands through clenched teeth. 

“Yes, your highness, yes it is bad.” The butler looks at him with a grave look on his face. “Do they know?” The young man asks.

“The smell is everywhere my highness,” the butler answers. Jean closes his eyes feeling a wave of pain taking over him. Fuck, he’s screwed.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean leaves for a small adventure and meets someone new. He finally gets summoned by the court and the world as he knows it comes to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer!  
> There is a part about self-harm in this chapter, be careful when reading. The part comes after three lines: --- and ends with three more lines. So if you do not want to read this part, you can skip it by keeping an eye out for the lines.

The window is slightly open letting the wind flow in, it is a cold breeze surely travelling from the seaside. It caresses the young man’s cheeks, the soft blow has him feeling the trail of tears who dried hours ago. The rays of the sun are trying to reach him, but it is still too early for the sun, who has only just woken up. He is sitting on the floor with a blanket around his shoulders, looking up at the deep blue sky adorned in red colours. Outside the window the city unfolds all around the castle and farther away are the meadows, dew lies like a heavy duvet over the green landscape, but the sun will soon lift the duvet of dew and let the landscape breathe once again.

For now, though, things are silent, only the fishermen are awake coming home from the sea bringing fresh fish to the market. However, soon the city will be awake and the sound of bustling will reach his ears. Stacks of books surround him, the wind ever curious reaches out to an open book and starts turning pages, a story unfolds; a hero surviving the war only to find he has lost his family, he reconciles and finds new love. Jean cannot reconcile with his fate. He clenches his teeth. Even though it is early morning, the young man does not feel tired. For the first time in a week, he has power over his body. The morning settles in his bones and leaves him exhaling dawn’s melancholy. Something is, however, not right, when he earlier passed by the mirror the image looking back at him distorted. He can never become himself again. The path paved for him as the Crown Prince has been erased, and though he hated it, not being free, this is much worse. What will become of him? He dare not ask the question and he does not want an answer. It has left him confused that he has not been summoned yet, considering that the whole castle now knows that he is a… But he has not been called upon. Instead, he has entrenched himself behind books for a whole week. 

He stands up abruptly making a stack of books fall to the floor with a loud thud. He walks to the chest; the one always locked and unlocks it. He takes clothes, hat and boots out of the chest. He puts it in a bag. He looks back at his book fortress before closing the door to his room and embarks on a small journey out of the castle. 

He reaches the stables without being seen of any servants, without a disgusting smell trailing after him, it is a whole lot easier. Inside the stables, he finds her standing gracefully, the coat shines and the red colour is exquisite. She is 10 summers old now, she recognises him just by his footsteps, and have already stuck her head out to better reach him. Zorya and he have often embarked on adventures. When they did not do that he would just stay in the stables either petting Zorya or just as often play with the stable boys teaching them the art of the sword. Though they used brooms often tripping over the mouthpiece. A faint smile touches his lips. 

“Your highness?” He stiffens by the sound of the title. He turns around slowly. Three steps from him stand a young man about his age, tanned skin from working outside every day, mud on his hands but blue eyes shining bright. 

“Alexandre,” Jean lets out in an exhale. “You are up early your highness,” the man speaks smiling sincerely. He must know though, right?

“So are you,” Jean answers back. “Are you taking Zorya out for a ride, your highness?”

“Yes, also please stop with ‘your highness’, I thought we had that discussion many summers ago,” Jean says looking carefully at Alexandre, for any sign that he means harm. Or just disgust but he finds nothing and it confuses him.

“We will have that discussion every year, Jean.” Alexandre smiles brightly as he so often does.

“Anyhow, let me help you with the saddle,” he walks over to one of the plain walls where the royal saddles are lined up, he takes Jean’s saddle; dark cognac leather with golden embroidery, underneath is the flap cream coloured and always impeccably clean. Alexandre comes back with it lays it on top the rail and opens the gate to Zorya. He takes the saddle and flap and lays it carefully on her back. Not long after Zorya is all prepped for a ride. Jean puts his foot in the stirrup and moves elegantly, placing himself on the saddle. He looks down at Alexandre. He feels a question pushing forward and out of his mouth.

“Why do you treat me like this?” Alexandre looks confused at first, but then he smiles. “You are the Crown Prince, your highness. Whatever else does not matter to me. I am here to serve the royal family, and so that is what I’m ought to do.” Jean feels something break inside him.

“I understand,” he says and takes off with those final words.

As he expected the town is bustling; markets filled with vegetables, fresh fish and clothes. The bakeries whose smell of freshly baked pies sweetens the air. The children running around playing when they are not scolded for not helping. Men of all sizes and ages emerge from the city’s inns, some travellers others just lonely men looking for comfort. Jean walks in between the market stalls a floppy hat pulled down to his ears with a broad brim hiding his amber eyes and golden hair. He is wearing a simple white shirt, a loose brown vest and dark pants. The brown boots are two sizes too big, but he has learned to walk in them regardless. Jean becomes no one. Here in the city, his soul is merely one of many. The shoal of humans moves in tortuous formations and his body follows suit. It is liberating. In his anonymity, he becomes just a human without a title to his name. A man with a little coin. He’s bag hangs heavy over his shoulder, inside his burden lies. 

In the city, there is much to see and never enough time, especially if you have servants looking for you in every corner of the castle. Today he is not so sure that will happen. As a child, after Melisende’s sentence, Jean would come here as often as possible. He felt that he for a moment could breathe.

For a coin, he buys an apple from an elderly woman at a stall; he bites into the red apple, juice running down his fingers. It reminds him of when he was a kid, yet to have coin in his purse, wandering around the city. He had dirtied his hair as to disguise who he was. Hunger had sneaked upon him, as the hours had passed by. He had yet the height to see above the front of the stalls, only seeing the merchants; thick and small, tall and thin. They existed side by side, in what seemed like harmony. They all yelled, trying to drown out each other, calling for patrons. He noticed an old lady; she stood with hunched back, her wrinkles had moulded themselves into her skin, she stood beside her stall, the fruit had been stacked in a way that made Jean able to see it. His hunger grew by the sight. The old lady stood quiet, with a content look, Jean stopped carefully approaching the woman. 

“Well hello, small one,” she greeted him, her eyes nearly invisible when she smiled at him. 

“Hello missus,” Jean bowed lightly as Melisende had taught him. “Aren’t you a polite one.” The lady remarked looking him over. Her eyes gleamed with secrets.

“What can I do for the little mister?” She asked bowing deep so his small voice would reach her old ears.

“I have one question missus, that I would like to ask, if I may do so?” Jean said. She chuckled.

“You may do so,” she answered smiling.

“Why do you not yell about like the rest? Does the missus not wish for patrons?” His eyes looked confused up at her. She only chuckled once again.

“Oh my, you have a keen eye little one. I simply believe in my products. There is no need to proclaim that they are the finest in the world, they simply are. I expect of my patrons that their eyes can see so.” She answered. Jean nodded slowly. 

“I suppose that makes sense,” he said pondering on what she had said. “Why don’t you have a taste yourself? You look like hunger has stroked you.” The woman offered, taking a shiny red apple and giving it to him. He took it without concern.

“Thank you, missus,” he bowed deeper this time. Taking a bite he hummed in delight, the old lady smiled. 

“Now, small one, be on your way, I believe there are people missing you.” She said and gave him a light push. 

He takes another bite of the apple, he wonders if she had seen through his disguise back then. She probably had he answers himself. He walks through the crowd until he turns at a small pathway where half-timbered houses follow the path. He strolls down the small pathway leading down to the riverbank. The sun is high on the sky shining brightly making him sweat, but it is a pleasant feeling the sun on his skin, the sweat dripping from his forehead, he feels alive. He reaches the river soon after, it reflects the rays of the sun making the water glimmer like diamonds. A little before the riverbank is something similar to a steep hill with lush grass, he sits down here, looking over the riverbank. Washerwomen are standing knee-high in the water washing clothes, children are playing by the river, their game looks like some sort of fencing and in the middle stands a young man, he is of short height and his hair has been cut close to his scalp. He is wearing the clothes of Trost’s Royal Army. A deep red with golden embroideries. He has taken off his string-vest and protection gear. He is obviously teaching the children the art of the sword, but he seems more focused on showing off than anything else, Jean snorts. 

He follows the movements of the man’s stick a makeshift sword, he wards off the children attempt to defeat him, he does not go easy on them, lightly poking them in the side, but nothing harmful though. He directs them further all while jumping around in bursts of energy, laughing loudly. Jean shakes his head a little, stands up and is on his way when he slips up the hill, he catches himself but his bag goes tumbling down the hill, landing not far from the children. It catches the eyes of a small boy, who points at Jean. Jean always keeps to himself when he is in the city afraid anyone finds out who he is. So this makes him nervous, he will, however, need his bag. He carefully climbs down the hillside, and slowly makes his way to the bag, the children have stopped playing watching him carefully.

“Hello sir,” the knight speaks up, “You seem awfully unlucky nearly falling down that hill.” He smiles, Jean can see that even though his brim brings his face into the shadows. He nods without speaking and grabs his bag. 

“The silent type I take it,” the knight continues chattering. “Would you care for a little fencing? Just to show the kids.” He asks and Jean stiffen, questions are bad. Really bad.

“No sir, I do not know the art of fencing, I am afraid.” He answers and lightly bows his head. “That’s a real shame, sir since I believe you do,” the knight says and continues explaining: “The way you caught yourself there up on the hillside, that tells me you have a great balance, you got to have that when fencing, you see.” 

“That was just pure luck sir, nothing more,” Jean answers and worries why this knight does not back off.

“Come on! Just a single match, more I won’t ask of you, good sir,” the knight almost pleads. Jean sighs, this is getting annoying and he has been in the city for long now, the head butler must have been visiting his room by now. Jean does not see a way out, he believes the knight will not let him go. Therefore, he sits down his bag and rolls up his sleeves. 

“Only one match, knight.” He says, the annoyance tinting his voice, but the knight only smiles. “Good to hear, sir.” 

“Now kids you will see a real battle! I will show you how it’s done!” The confidence was evident. It annoyed Jean to no end. First, he nearly begs for a battle then declares that he will win, over what he must believe is a commoner. Jean shakes his head. He is undecided in how much he will show the knight. He takes one of the sticks the sturdiest one and stands in position. The knight does the same thing.

“Won’t one of you boys count down?” The knight asks the children they all lift their arms and like a choir sings of wanting. A small slim boy counts down, and so the battle begins. 

They circle around each other, carefully placing their feet one beside the other, the knight takes the first step forward to try to gauge Jean, but he keeps calm staying in place. It makes the knight smile for some reason. Then the knight pounces the stick coming for his left side, Jean dodges and deflects the strike with the makeshift sword. Before taking two steps to the right, to strike at the knight’s right side, but the knight is too fast and easily deflects the strike. The knight counters by going after Jean’s calves, he jumps to avoid the blow but the knight charges before Jean can get away, last-minute he blocks the attack. While fighting Jean’s mind keep reminding him not to lose his hat, for anything in the world.   
While Jean is not as fast as the knight he is definitely stronger, and when their sticks collide, Jean pushes the knight back every time. By now, his shirt is drenched in sweat, as they keep circling each other before launching. He does not have enough stamina, he can feel it in the way he dodges the knight’s attacks, they are becoming increasingly sluggish. In no time, the knight has them crossing sticks again and Jean is pushing him away, with the last effort he uses all his power, it is at that moment that the knight jumps back making Jean stumble forward, he falls to the ground his hands taking the fall for him. When he finally turns around, he is looking at the end of the knight’s stick.

“It would seem you are dead, good sir,” the knight says with heavy exhales. Jean is gasping for air. 

“It would seem so,” he says standing up, not taking the knight’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you for the match, good sir, the name is Connie Springer by the way,” the knight introduces himself, but Jean is already walking away, his bag slung over his shoulder and with a hand raised in farewell. 

“Oh come on! Not even a name?” The knight shouts after him, but he ignores it. He needs to get to the castle.

The journey back is uneventful, not that Jean would have liked more to happen. He reaches his room without anyone seeing him and lays down on his bed, he is immensely tired, and he feels his eyes closing. For a while, he felt free, but already the chains wrap around him. 

It had taken a whole week before his heat had let go of him. He has never felt that helpless and in pain as he did that week. This will become a monthly thing will it not? He hates the thought. Hates what he has become. That week only beta servants and butlers were allowed to assist him, but he denied all of them, he wanted to be alone. This was a pain he had to fight himself. He only accepted the help of the head butler that in-kind insisted on helping him, mostly by serving him food or helping him take a bath. He was the only one seemingly not caring for his Second Gender. When he asked him why he answered that he is responsible for taking care of Jean the same way he was responsible for taking care of the queen and king. It seemed a recurring theme that the servants closest to him did not give kindness out of care but out of obligation. He had no one, he thought bitterly while lying on the bed. In town, he was no one and at the castle, he was merely an existence bound and chained by title. He did not belong. He fell asleep with that thought a lingering whisper. 

The sun has only just woken up this morning two weeks after his presenting. There is quiet, except for the rain softly tapping on the windows as if to ask to be let into the warmth. His eyes droop just as he has opened them. Light is bathing the room in soft hues that are only just there, it must be dusk. Even though the morning has yet to begin, he rises while rubbing his eyes and swallows a yawn. His hair is in disarray and his body aches slightly, probably because he has been sitting hunched over while reading. Jean stretches and tries to work out a kink in his shoulder. He loves being awake at this time of day, looking out of his window watching the city where peace resides, it makes his heart ache with something proud. 

There has not always been peace in Trost, for many centuries while Jinae was still a kingdom, the two countries fought relentlessly. Trost has been partly occupied by Jinae for about 50 summers, but that is already a century ago. These days the relationship between the two countries seems stable, most important is the fact that Trost and Jinae have signed a peace treaty, some five summers after the war ended. While they have strong bureaucratic relations, they do not see eye to eye when it comes to ruling a country. 

Jinae is a new democracy ruled by a government called the Parliament of the People, which is made up of elected politicians. All adults can vote for those running for election. While they call it a democracy there still exists an aristocracy with much power of the state while commoners have some power. Many politicians come from the aristocracy with few being commoners due to the political campaigns being so expensive. The aristocracy is made up of dukes, barons and lords; Duke and duchess are relics from the old times when Jinae was still a monarchy. It is the highest title in the aristocracy and some have ties to the old royal family. They have large economies and own a lot of land. Many have private armies or owns large academic institutions. They have the largest amount of political power in Jinae. Baron and Baroness are the middle class of the aristocracy; they have smaller political influence often only regarding land reforms. Lords is the lowest class of the aristocracy; they have some land to their name and their political power mostly exist in the counties. They often make militaristic alliances with dukes. 

Compared to Jinae, Trost’s edification is very complicated. At the top is the royal family, they own land and the country’s economy is managed by them and their court. The Royal Army is the only army Trost has, saved for some units stationed in the regions and managed by the country’s warlords. Next comes the court, the court is made up of men that acts as political advisors for the king. They have a voting system so that laws and other decisions have to go through them and be voted for or against, the king does, however, have the right to veto. Next is both lords, warlords and lawmen. Lords owns a lot of land and is economically tied to the well-being of agriculture, they have many farmers under them that pay taxes that the lords collect. Warlords are military officials that control most of the army, like normal lords they own land and charge taxes. The only difference is that they command the stationed army that is there to help keep peace in the regions. Lawmen are the men close to the court that proposes and writes the laws that the king and court decide on. The Military Police Corps and high commanders have less power, though in history some commanders have later become warlords. Large merchants also have some power because of their large businesses. The ones with the least power are the peasants. They have no power, Jean thinks with a taste of injustice on his tongue. 

“Your highness,” someone says from behind his closed door. It is the head butler; he knocks three times before opening the door. His face is placed in a worried frown.

“You have been summoned by the court, my highness.” The butler says. Jean stiffens, he feels a chill pass through him. He was beginning to think they might let it go, seen, as nothing had happened since him becoming a… But of course, he had been too naïve. 

He stands up on insecure legs and starts dressing with the help of the head butler. He finishes all too quickly. He stares in the mirror, the amber eyes shine with something he cannot place. He does not want to go to this assembly. Whatever is to happen it cannot be good. He sways a bit in the morning sun; it would seem the rain has stopped. Then he walks past the butler and out the door. 

“Your highness,” he is greeted by the head court member, but his mouth is twitching by uttering the words. Jean bows and walks further into the room. All the court members are there as well as his uncle Olbricht. The atmosphere is heavy like a burden is weighing on the shoulders of everyone. It does not feel right to Jean; they have kept quiet about something, let him live in unawareness giving him an unwanted fragment of peace before the hammer strikes, shattering everything. They all eye him cautiously. When Jean gets eye contact with his uncle, he finds himself feeling like a deer catching the smell of a hunter, and it scares him. The necklace around his neck feels heavy. 

“Your highness, something most urgent must be discussed with you.” The head court member begins and takes a step towards him. He nods to let the man know he is listening.

“We have received the answer from the Parliament of People, they have agreed to help us,” he says and Jean breathes in.

“This is good news-“ Jean begins “But-” interrupts the head court member.

“-But, there is a catch to this agreement, one that places us in a most grave situation, your highness.”

“For it would seem that this aid is needed from the duke of county Athenos, whom in all of the Land of Jinae has the largest army, willing to aid us.” The head court member keeps turning around his hands, then wets his lips before letting go of those words unspoken of. 

“He is willing to aid our country in the war against the Mountain Clans but under the condition that the Kingdom of Trost enters an alliance.” They have before formed alliances with the Land of Jinae, but Jean do not get time to ponder as to why this alliance is bad.

“He proposes an alliance between the House of Kirschtein and the House of Bott by entering marriage.” Jean sinks something. The head court member looks pained by what he himself is saying.

“Your highness, he asks for your hand in marriage,” Jean feels the anger blossom; no one is ever kind out of care, are they? Their country is in dire need of help and some pretentious duke is trying to use their situation for his own gain.

“Well that is not going to happen, now is it. There must be other counties in Jinae willing to help us!” He finally says when the room has gone quiet, waiting presumably on his answer.

“Your highness, he is the only one with enough men to spare for such a large campaign. You must understand we need this aid, it is essential for our succession.” 

“What are you trying to say? That I shall simply be married off to some duke in Jinae?” He says holding in his anger that is boiling in his blood, his fists are clenched. “I thought they wanted democracy?!” He sneers. This is ridiculous! What is the court proposing? That their only successor to the throne is married off to a duke? A duke! Had they no self-respect?

“Yes, Jean that is exactly what the court proposes,” his uncle Olbricht says finally speaking up. 

“Oh, is it?! Well, I’m vetoing that! How can you even think of doing such a thing?” Jean all but yells trying to hold his calm demeanour but doing a terrible job of it. 

“You have yet to take to the throne, Jean; you have no right speaking of the right to veto! Only a king has that sort of power.” His uncle says and now it is evident for Jean that the look in his uncle’s eyes is pure disgust. 

“It has already been decided that you WILL marry the duke.” His uncle says voice dripping in acid.

“They have forced our hand, your highness you must understand,” the head court member tries, but Jean explodes in a fit of rage:

“Without my consent? Without asking if this is the right thing to do? You have voted without letting me, the Crown Prince, know. Have not let me argue against it! Have you even tried asking for the other counties aid, or did you simply nod and agree to the terms like marionette dolls?!”

“Stop your pity cries, boy. This is final.” Olbricht raises his voice. Jean feels betrayed, and he yells out: 

“Oh this is what you have wanted all this time, is it not uncle? To throw me out, have me as far from the throne as possible, you have only waited on a chance and you finally saw it! This has nothing to do with the need for aid, does it? It is because-“ he feels the word get stuck in his throat. He sees the faint smile on his uncle’s lips and it fuels him to keep going.

“It is because I am a fucking omega, is it not?!” Jean screams his voice screaming back at him hitting the walls over and over again. 

“You all would have me killed would it not lead to uproar between the peasants,” he growls feeling the prickling behind his eyes, but he denies them, he will not show them his sorrow. Instead, he turns his back to them and stomps out of the room. 

\---  
His fist connects with the door’s surface, sending lightning through his knuckles up to his arm. His knuckles are bruised and blood is smeared across the door, where small cracks have begun showing where Jean has been placing blows into the wood. Wood splints have taken hold of his hands but the pain only fuels him on, blow after blow the door is slowly breaking. He feels the hate boiling and yells incoherently before smashing his knuckles into the door again. Bitter betrayal and overwhelming sadness collide inside him, he exhales small burst of air, and he feels the rapid beating of his heart, pumping life into his blood vessels making him stay alive. 

He is an unwanted existence he thinks while ripping at his skin. An insufferable man worth nothing but his title. Incapable of being anything, his mind screams as his fist strikes against the door again. He has always been nothing, merely an unwanted child. He breaks down screaming. He wishes he had never been born. 

He finally submits to the pain and something tilts; what had been a wave of controllable anger becomes an irrepressible rage. In this new madness, his body moves like possessed by witchcraft overthrowing the chest, wardrobe, bedside tables and the bookcase, books falling all over the floor. His knuckles are aching, his head is spinning and so he screams taking hold of his own hair starting to pull at the cursed golden locks ruining his life. He is an absolute moron for believing that they might let him be, let him be crowned or at least set free. While moving about, he catches the sight of himself in the large full-sized mirror. In it, he sees nothing but a monstrosity, crying and begging God to undo what cannot be undone. He hates what his eyes see. The tears running down his cheeks, the snot smeared around his nose and down his chin. The bleeding knuckles and the heaving chest that keeps drawing in the air even when he wishes it to stop. Why was he born like this? He heaves more air in, something burns in his throat, he tries killing the wails but they slip out of his lips nonetheless. He wishes he could become no one. An existence only floating in the shadows. But he is titled and so the shackles trails behind him. If he had not been titled, his fate had been his own. If he had never been born like this, at least he would sit on the throne, but he is not because he is an omega. The gender worth nothing. Nothing.

“You are less than nothing, you are a disgrace!” He cries out. “You are just a disgusting omega!” He screams to the mirror screaming back at him. A pitiful creature soon to be married off. His chest rises and falls in short intervals, he clenches his teeth and presses his nails into his flesh trying to rip it apart, wanting out of his body. As he stares at himself in the mirror seeing this creature foreign to him, the hatred leads him to raise his arm; hand clenched as his fist collides with the mirror, his self-image shatters. The mirror breaks, small pieces reaches his face grabbing onto his skin ripping it open. He falls to his knees in front of the broken mirror, nothing left to reflect him. In a sense, he becomes no one. He looks down at the shards on the floor yet he still exists and so they reflect him, distorting his face so it fits his inside. Disgusting, he sneers as a numbness sinks into his bones. As the pain disappears in the numbness, despair swallows him whole, but he wants to feel, feel the pain that he seemingly deserves, and so he grabs the shards. The glass sinks into his skin, blood spills onto the floor, when the pain seems to subside he throws the glass in his hand away just to take a new handful, letting the glass sink deeper into his flesh. He just sits there on his knees glass in his hands. He looks up towards the window; the sun is slowly leaving the sky and reaches out painting the sky in soft hues, he follows the birds flying free on the sky. Slowly his breath evens out and he unclenches his hands making the shards fall to the floor. The bustling city reaches his ears and he closes his eyes the rage subsides replaced by a sorrow larger than his heart can endure. The tears fall down and he sobs while his blood continues spilling. What will happen now? What will become of him when he marries a man that acts only when he gains? His surroundings begin to blur and he only hears white noise, he feels hands grasping his shoulders than things blackens.   
\---

He wakes to find that his room looks like usual, the chest stands by the end of his bed, the two bedside tables by his bed, the wardrobe stands against the wall and the bookcase stands filled with all his books, the only thing missing is the large gold mirror. The only reminder of what has happened. He lies in bed, a dim pain coming from his hands. When he looks down his arms, he notices that he has bandages around his hands. A throbbing comes from behind his eyes, and he has a headache, the aftermath of his madness leaves him feeling like his head is underwater. From the window, the light reaches far into the room. The window is ajar making a breeze step inside; it reaches him on tiptoes gently caressing his cheeks, reminding him of something forgotten. 

Slowly he sits up, for a while he just sits there with his arms resting in his lap and his eyes closed. He listens to the birds whispering tales of foreign lands and he wonders what Jinae is like, never been there he knows not much. Soon you will see, a fragile voice murmurs. He opens his eyes. Jean takes a deep breath and as he exhales, he gets out of bed. He walks towards the open window, as he reaches it, he has a clear view of his capital. It spreads out in every direction in something resembling a circle, he listens to the sound of lives lived. He finds that something has left his body; something heavy has been taken from him and has left him numb, yet it is as if when the heaviness was taken from him so was something else, something important. He looks up; clouds swim on the vast sky and soon reaches the sun, hiding it. The warm light disappears and he is left in the shadows, he catches the reflection of himself in the window. He stares at himself; the amber hides in the shadows of his numbness, but they still glow in the dark, sparks of life pulsating even when his mind clouds. In the wake of his madness, an inexorable will to stay alive has been given birth to. 

He has made up his mind. With that resolve, he leaves the window behind, dressing and is on his way when he halts by the door, staring at the cracks moulded into the dark wood. He wets his lips and closes his eyes for a short time pushing something back, closing the casket with shackles and locking it up again. While lying in bed he had made a decision. He will not let them win; he will stand straight when he leaves this castle, leaves his home. Even if they think of him as nothing, he will not let them push him into madness again. He will stand stronger. It is with this tenacity that he pushes the door open and leaves his safety.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean learns about the war, meets new people and finally begins his travel to Jinae.

His hand lingers on the knob, concern laps at his mind daring him to open the courtroom door. Inside awaits a fate further elaborated and while determine it scares him not being in control, but then again has he ever been? A perplexed feeling unfolds in the pit of his stomach. It has been two weeks since he was told he is to marry the Duke of county Athenos. A letter was forwarded to the Parliament of People agreeing to the terms. A day ago, a letter arrived from the Land of Jinae, reassuring that the alliance will take effect when the marriage between the Duke and Jean has been held. His destiny is written on a simple white paper. The stroke of a pen sealing his fate.

He woke this morning to the message that he has been summoned by the court. He has not been called for since the court meeting. He is wary of them, these men that with a raised hand votes for the fate of the country. He fears that his uncle will be present at the meeting; he tastes acid on his tongue. Thoughts collide like waves inside of him, and he feels like a ship fearing to wreck. He has not forgotten the fate they have forced upon him, the betrayal still makes his heart stings. He will, however, have to face them; he will show them that they cannot make him succumb. He finally takes hold of the knob and turns it, opening the door. 

When he crosses the threshold, he is met by men standing hunched over the war table, carved tree pieces scattered on the table and in the hands of men. They do not seem to hear him and so he slowly makes his way towards them. 

“One of our scouts say they will move by sea,” a tall man says and pushes pieces towards what seems to be Trost. 

“Another says they are planning to move through the northern region,” a large man, that Jean recognizes as one of the most prominent warlords in Trost says and places a piece on the table, where exactly Jean cannot see. 

“Do they really have an army large enough for such an attack?” A court member asks in a small voice.

“It is still unsure, but if the scouts are correct then yes, I am afraid they have enough men for such a strategy.” The large man says and crosses his arms. “We are in large troubles if their fleet reaches the capital before the aid from Jinae.”

“And they will not move their army before the crown prince has entered marriage,” a court member says.

“We must let him travel as soon as possible,” another adds. Jean has come close enough to see the table’s content clearly. Between court members and warlords stands his uncle as well as two unknown men. The two men are comically different, one tall and blonde with strong blue eyes the other a small ravenette with a sharp gaze. A gaze that suddenly leaves the table and looks directly into Jean’s eyes. The man lifts a single eyebrow.

“It would seem we have a guest,” he says in a low rumbling voice. The rest of the assembly stands up abruptly their gazes finding Jean. The young man stiffens before he stands straight meeting their gazes. 

“Jean,” his uncle states flatly.

“You called upon me,” Jean greets not feeling like giving them any courtesies. 

“Your highness, thank you for being here,” the head court member says politely smiling, but none of it reaches his eyes. It hangs in the air: the disgust and the contempt. 

“Let me introduce you to General Smith, leader of the Royal Army, and Captain Ackerman”

The ravenette scrunches his nose up and mumbles under his breath, something about disliking the last name.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance your highness,” the tall man, General Smith, says bowing slightly. “I am in charge of the Royal Army, this is my right hand Captain Levi earlier scout for the Special Unit now the leader of the Battery of Special Operations,” the short ravenette gives a single nod. Jean remembers only some of his war lessons, but the General of the Army is the highest-ranking member of the Royal Army, it includes a military corps that amounts to around 50.000 soldiers. The last 60 summers or so the royal family and the court has downgraded the military instead, they have focused on educational institutions and the arts. The battery of Special Operations has around 80-150 troops and is famous for its undercover missions. 

“Your highness do you care for taking part in the war council?” General Smith asks. Jean freezes and feels gazes on both him and the General. However, the General just looks at Jean seemingly sincere in his invitation. It seems beneficial to know what is actually going on with the upcoming war, however, he feels insecure and highly aware of the disapproval of the court. General Smith does not seem ill-willed though, as if he too believes that Jean may use the knowledge he acquires. 

“Yes,” he finally decides and takes a last step towards the war table finally reaching the edge of the table standing next to warlords and court members alike. 

“As we were discussing, the Titans may move both by sea and land. They are well known for their shipbuilding but what we must be most wary of is their land troops travelling on horseback. They move swiftly and are self-sufficient. The largest amount of troops are archers meaning that they are especially good at long-distance fighting,” General Smith explains and points at the tree pieces: boats on the western sea and Titan flags placed by the northern border. 

“We still do not know if this is the strategy they will use but our intel implies so.”

“How large is this army?” Jean asks, now having heard so many times of the fear this Titan army installs in people, how large can it be?

“They have about 2 field armies of about 320.000 men, of course, part of the army will stay in the land of the Mountain Clans to defend against attacks, but a large part of it will go to war against Trost.” Jean sinks something, he is not able to comprehend how large such a size is, but he knows that they are outnumbered by far.

“The Duke of county Athenos will lend us 160.000 soldiers from his army; while they will not make us equal in size, they specialize in navy warfare and archery, which are crucial for our succession against the Titans.” General Smith explains. 

“The way from Trost to Athenos is about a month travelling, your highness, that is why the marriage must be held immediately, as we are fighting against time.” The head court member says. 

“Your highness you must travel as soon as possible,” he continues. The hammer has finally fallen and it shatters Jean’s world all over again.

“I suggest the day after tomorrow so the servants have time to prepare for the journey,” his uncle speaks up, not even looking at Jean. 

“Captain Levi is travelling to Jinae, so he will accompany you,” General Smith says and a faint smile touches his lips. 

Jean is not listening to what the men are saying, in his mind only thoughts of his home reach him, longing already seeps through his bones. Running through his fingers like the sand of the Fallugia desert, the last grain falls from his fingertip and so his time has run out. 

He sits on his bed hands in his lap, eyes following the many servants bustling about his room. The sun is hanging high on the sky shining brightly, it is noon and the servants have been at it since morning rose. Since the court summoned him two days have passed, without noticing anything Jean used most of his time nose stuck in his books. Letting it sink in that so soon he will travel to Jinae. That day has come now. 

For now, though, he just sits staring into nothingness, thoughts pass him by but nothing takes hold of his mind. The sea breeze tousles his golden locks and strokes his cheek as if comforting him. He looks at his palms, only scars are left, long and a faint red, but it is a reminder of his determination, of his decision to take hold of his life, even when it seems to be in the hands of others. It has already been announced to the public that their crown prince is ‘sacrificing’ himself for the sake of the country’s future by entering marriage with House Bott. The commoners have seemingly taken it well, tales of his bravery and compassion has already reached the lips of many, ‘Jean the Goodhearted’ they call him, so has the servants told him at least. It is of little consolation, being spoken of as if he has willingly entered this alliance, with the truth of him presenting withheld. ‘Jean the Caged’ seemed more fitting, he thinks. He sighs heavily feeling the shackles of duty tighten around his chest. A servant girl reaches for his books and it is then he stands up.

“I shall do that myself,” he says making the servant stop mid-movement. He smiles faintly at her when she faces him. She makes a courtesy and hurries away from the bookshelf. He lets his fingers walk along the curves and edges of the spines. He caresses them, these stories storing more than fairy tales, stored in them are also memories of his childhood. Of laughter, tears and comfort. He picks them out one after the other, he remembers the tales by heart. A pile soon sways in his arms; he carries them to his chest, and carefully stores them in it. They might become his only comfort in the Land of Jinae. 

Soon after, things are moved out of his room, the last thing to be moved is his chest, where his personal belongings are stored. He follows it with his eyes as it is carried out and when it is he feels his room become just a room, withholding none of his secrets, none of his memories. Just another room in the grant castle he calls home. He fiddles with his hands standing in the big room letting his thoughts once again pass him by. Alone now he feels anxiety creep up on him, breathing down his neck and light whispers reaching his ears. He is scared and the fear kisses his lips making them tremble. He clenches his fists, he will not succumb to the fear, he will bind it to this room, be it the only thing he leaves behind. With that, he turns his back to the room. 

The late summer heat meets him in the grand hall, his footsteps echoes, a lonely sound in his ear as if he is in an empty place all on his own. A man of no land.   
The front doors are wide open letting sunbeams kiss the marble floor, the sky is blue and birds flying freely singing songs about a soon farewell. He walks through the doors and is met with the sight of every single servant standing on each side of the stairs, and leading into two separate groups of people. They quiet down when they see him. He descends the stairs with his heart heavier by each step he takes. The royal carriage is a little away from the stairs; he is travelling in this particular carriage to let the people know of his travel. Four sturdy white horses stand reined to the carriage, beside them bound to the side of the carriage stands the red dun he is so fond of. The knights’ dark horses are wearing the familiar red flaps and the family crest of House Kirschtein. By the end of the stairs court members, his cousins and uncle are standing and to the side, a little further away, stands Captain Levi, his face brought into a scold. 

“Your highness,” the head court member greets him with open arms, a forged smile on his slim lips.

“You seem ready for your travel,” he states looking Jean up and down, inspecting him. Jean is wearing the royal travel robes: a cream coloured jacket with a white shirt underneath and dark trousers. The family crest, embroidered on the left side of his jacket, made by golden tread shines in the sunlight moving to the beat of his heart and the soft inhale of air. 

“Before you travel, there are two people I would like to introduce,” he continues and makes Jean raise an eyebrow. Who at this point was there to introduce? Two knights come forward; a tall woman with her black hair tied in a low ponytail, her dark skin and freckles seem a gift from the gods as his nanny had so often spoken about. Her eyes are intimidating when they land on him. The other knight is short and has a bounce to his step, Jean stops his inspection of the knight, he seems very familiar. Short greyish hair cut close to his scalp and energetic eyes. 

“This is Ymir-” the head court member points at the tall woman, “and this is Connie Springer.” He adds and points at the short male. Springer. The name rings in the back of his head but Jean cannot place the man. 

“They will be your personal knights on the journey and will stay by your side to ensure your well-being.” The head court member explains. To keep him safe or to ensure that he does not run away? Jean thinks. The knights stand with straight backs wearing the red colour of the Royal Army with pride. Are they loyal to the crown? And who’s crown are they loyal to? Jean takes a step forward, closer to the knights. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you both; I will look forward to our travel together.” He says politely and bows.

“The pleasure is all ours, your highness,” The tall woman, Ymir, says and bows deeply. The short man keeps standing, just looking around. A hand takes hold of the front of his armour and pulls. 

“Whoa!” the short knight exclaims and for a moment, he loses his balance in this forced bow. Jean can see Ymir snap at him. 

“I apologize, your highness, Springer’s empty head often soar to the clouds,” Ymir says looking more irritated than apologetic. Jean just nods. When they raise from their bows the short knight, Springer smiles brightly at Jean.

“Now it is time to say our farewell, your highness.” The head court member says and steps toward Jean. 

“It has been with pride that I served your father, the late king, what he stood for the court and I will insure be respected, we will keep his legacy alive. May you travel safely, your highness.” The man bows deeply in front of Jean, the young man has a feeling that this sentimentality is all for show. So begins the minutes long farewell from the court members, one after the other spouting rose-coloured words that none of them means. After a while, he reaches his cousins and uncle. He feels something getting stuck in his throat. Their eyes are scrutinizing and their lips are placed in sneers.

“Jean,” his uncle states.

“Uncle,” Jean says, keeping his posture.

“We are all saddened by our kingdom’s situation and your fate we bemoan, but we know that you are strong-” he takes hold of Jean’s shoulder, his uncle’s nails bore into his skin. 

“- keep being strong, boy, and you will be safe.” He concludes, the last words stuck between them. Jean just nods once again. His cousins bade farewell in much the same manner and soon Jean is standing in front of the carriage’s open door. He slowly makes his way up the stairs, inside the red velour adorns the seats, he sits down and the door is closed. He looks out the window seeing all the humans soon waving him farewell, even though there is no kindness involved. It is a simple goodbye. Jean closes his eyes. The dark thoughts consume his mind, he looks at his hands placed in his lap, and he trails the scar with his finger. While Trost is his home and the castle the place he has lived his whole life, it is not a place of kindness. The servants do it out of obligation, the court out of responsibility and his uncle? 

“Jean,” he startles by the voice. The young man turns his head; his uncle is standing by the window. 

“Yes?” He answers hesitantly. 

“Just an advice of mine, be aware that your existence ceases to exist when you reach the outer walls of the city. You will be nothing more than a tale told by the commoners.”

The anger in Jean flares up, there is so much hatred rushing through his body. 

“I will never forget what you have done, “ he says through gritted teeth. His uncle laughs, “I am sure you will, but it is of little concern for me, there is soon to be changes in this kingdom,” a sly smile coil at the ends of his uncle’s lips. “It will keep me busy,” he adds. 

”The court will honour my father’s legacy and his wishes, the head court member has told me so,” Jean says. 

“Do not be stupid boy, with the royal line coming to an end so a new will begin. My brother’s legacy is written on a plate at his grave and there it will stay.” His uncle’s words are like acid running through Jean’s ears. 

“Now stay with your little Duke and be happy that he sees the use of someone of your kind," his uncle spits out, looking at Jean with disgust. Jean’s knuckles are turning white from clenching his fists. The sound of his blood rushing through him thumps loudly. He chants inside his head to keep in control. Do not let him see your anger, Jean thinks. He is trying to provoke him, Jean is sure of this. He keeps quiet holding his uncle’s eye contact. His uncle looks at him like a snake swaying from side to side looking at their prey. Then he smiles as if he has found what he was looking for. 

“Goodbye Jean,” His uncle says and turns his back to him. The words are like an arrow flitting through the air, the only sound heard is that of the feathers being stroked by the wind, and so it reaches its destination, grasping deep inside its prey. The betrayal makes him choke on a wail; his heart feels like it is bleeding.

Before Jean can get a hold on all of his thoughts, he hears the call from the coachman marking the beginning of his journey. As the horses begin moving, so does the carriage with the crown prince in it. The city passes him by, commoners from young to old are gathering in the streets trying to get a peek of the crown prince. Jean draws the curtains and closes his eyes. He tries to take in deep breaths, but they come out shaky. He feels the tears prickle in the corners of his eyes. As he opens his eyes, the amber drowns at the bottom of the ocean in an immense sorrow. 

When they reach the wall, Jean pulls the curtain to look up at the blue sky; the sun tries to dry his unshed tears and the clouds lazily stretch on the vast sky. The air is dry and the weather a calming warmth seeping through his bones. As a kid, he would have loved this weather, playing at the stables, sneaking out to the city, reading books in the shadow of an oak tree. Memories are brought back, grasping at his mind, whispering about forgotten days. He is losing his home; he will become a man belonging to nowhere. However, Trost is running through his veins and he will not forget where he comes from, where he belongs. As they pass through the heavy wooden gates, Jean looks back at the city, the first tear rolls down his cheek, and so he wonders if he will ever touch the soil of Trost again.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean continues his journey through Trost and learns about the history of Jinae.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter has been updated with an amazing illustration from  
> [Sugarbugbear](https://sugarbugbear.tumblr.com)

With a loud thump, Jean hits his head against the side of the carriage wall where he until a second ago was resting his head deep asleep. The roads away from the city are bumpy and stones of many sizes make for an uncomfortable travel experience. It has been hours since they left the capital, yet he cannot come to term with the fact. If he closes his eyes, he can still picture the streets of the capital and the riverbank with the washerwomen and the children playing. He sighs and rests his head against the wall. Outside he can hear the hooves of the horses and the low chatter between the knights. A friendly laugh can be heard now and then. They know nothing of the world Jean lives in, believes that this is a choice he made, do not know that he is an omega. They travel because they have a mission in Jinae. He travels because he is a political pawn in a bigger game. He looks out the window into the green scenery. Right now, they are travelling through one of Trost largest forests, the trees are still a deep lush green, shading the forest in a soft green hue. He can hear the chippering of birds singing songs about a free world. He closes his eyes for a brief second, he feels numb as if his feelings have been drained out of him, following all the tears that have run down his cheeks. 

He closes the curtains as if it can cut out the noise of lives lived around him, of the freedom they hold. Something has been churning through his head since they left, it has curled around his mind like a snake around its prey. He thinks about his uncle's last words, of what heavy truth they hold, of what he was implying. Jean wishes he is oblivious enough to not know, but he is aware. 'There are soon to be changes', Jean's clenches his jaw. Is the court going to let his uncle take to the throne? He feels his stomach churn. The prospect of his uncle holding such power frightens the young man, almost more than his marriage with the Duke. He resents the man for what he has let happen. The court must vote first but Jean does not know how many of the court members stand by his uncle nor what the population think of his uncle as a potential ruler. He was never involved much in the rule of the country nor its politics. Now, he wishes he had paid more attention. Would he have been able to play their mind games? He sighs heavily, now there is nothing to be done.

"I've told you to stay in bloody formation! How hard can it fucking be?!" Jean is brought back to the present by a loud voice. Jean peaks out from the curtain; on horseback, a knight furiously gestures toward Springer. The young knight sits on his horse with a lowered head. The other knight, surely a senior of Springer's, continues: 

"How were you ever named a knight?!" The knight spits out. "You-" he points an iron-clad finger at Springer "-are a disgrace to us all, 'a personal knight' it makes me laugh!" The young knight keeps his head down, just takes the insults never uttering a word.

“That’s what you get from a Beta knight,” the knight concludes and waves a hand.

"Now keep in formation." The knight barks out and steers his horse to the front. In a low voice, Jean hears the young knight utter a 'yes sir' head still low.

Something gnaws in the back of Jean’s mind a bitter memory of his childhood. 

His eyes followed the flames dancing a foreign dance, crackling laughter taunting him for what was soon to come. Something slippery and dark coiled in his tummy. Behind him, sitting on a beautifully carved mahogany chair, was the king. The young boy felt the blue eyes pierce through his slim back. He did not dare peak nor speak afraid of setting off the anger that hid behind those eyes. Jean hated the eyes of his father, they never looked properly at him and when they did it was often with anger. Oh, and when the king was angry, those eyes, they were left dead, a hollow blue silently looking through him, like he did not exist.

"Face me, Jean." The boy felt his body stiffens. His father's voice was calm, but Jean heard the rumble rolling of the king's tongue. With slow movements he turned around, he was met with a stern-looking man, golden locks adorning sharp features. What had once been a man tales speaking of his beauty was now a man haunted by his duty.

The boy closed his eyes shut and with every exhale counted another second that passed. Outside the snow moved side to side being pushed around by the angered wind. The fragile snowflakes hit against the window breaking and withering away. The warmth from the fireplace stroked his back, seemingly trying to provide a touch of kindness. He had been in the right, when he had fought back against the other children, trying to rile up one of the royal horses. He still felt the small cuts on his knuckles and the sting from the bruise on his knee where he had been hit with a broom. He had come back from the meadows having skipped his literature lesson, when he had seen them poke the poor horse with a sharp stick, laughing and taunting it. He had left Zorya's back to pursue some sort of justice; he had given them no chance to explain, instead, he had pushed the boy holding the stick. Soon they had been a mess of limbs and angry fists. One of the older stable boys heard the commotion and had stopped the fight. Not that this information mattered, the consequences made him stand by the fireplace in his father’s private courters*, waiting for the reprimand that would soon come.

The broad figure rose in front of Jean, from where he had sat on the throne-like chair with carvings of lion feet and eagle heads. The chair was the castle’s finest after the golden throne in the audience chamber and the king’s favourite. Jean’s father placed his hands behind his back and took a step closer to his son.

"You once again disappoints me, Jean." The king said looking at the boy. "You do not take your lessons seriously, you read those silly children's books of yours and now you disgrace the royal title by involving yourself in pity fistfights with beta boys." The boy's stare was fixed on the floor.

“What am I supposed to do with a son like you?” A heavy sigh and a tint of anger followed his next words: “You defy of what little I ask of you, you were given this title and yet you do nothing but soil it.” Jean wanted to speak, wanted to protest against his father’s words, but he knew the truths that stood behind them, he did not take his studies seriously, he did read fairytale books, he did get into fistfights. He was a useless crown prince. However, what his father had done was it not far worse? The golden necklace hang heavy against his small chest, he could still hear her voice calling him or her soft fingertips gliding through his hair. How was that just? How could her death ever be one of justice? 

The king’s long fingers took hold of the boy’s shoulders gripping them with strength. 

"Jean," the King said. "Look me in the eyes." The boy did not obey at first, he was simply too scared to do so, but with his father's fingers digging into his skin, he finally looked up. He met his father's gaze and felt a chill run down his spine.

“You will never again involve yourself in brute fights. You will study diligently and stop reading those stories of yours or else I will have to punish you. Do you understand me?” Jean swallowed his protests but the amber burned.

“Yes father, I understand,” he heard his small voice say. 

Jean scoffs, resting his head against the carriage wall. He had not understood and so had been sent down south to the summer mansion where he attended summer school together with the rest of the children of the royal family. He was not the same though, son of the crown, anyone knew his name and bowed when he passed them, even when it was just to pick up the ball he was playing with. His fingers play with the curtain, that summer he was met with envy. A tale for another time, he thinks. There are more important things to think of he thinks tasting bitterness on his tongue. He closes his eyes and tries to fall asleep again, he needs the energy for the long trip ahead.

The birds chipper lazily, no clouds lingers on the sky and the inside of the carriage is hot from the sunbeams engulfing the carriage and the rest of his company. It has been four days since Jean left the capital but there is still more than three weeks before he reaches his destination. A washbasin is placed in the middle of the carriage floor; right now, the water in the basin wobbles as the carriage continues to hit stones and holes on the path. He takes the cloth and wrings it, before beginning to dry himself off. The cloth against his fair skin feels good, he has yet to take an actual bath though and it disgusts him. Since the beginning of the journey, the young man has kept to himself staying in the carriage unless he had to relieve himself. A servant accompanying him on the journey brings him food. Said servant has since this morning been feeling sick and cannot serve the crown prince, should he infect him. Jean feels exhausted from the heat, the loneliness he has tried to quell by reading, but in this warmth, the words melt together in his mind making them difficult to decipher.

A sudden rumble breaks the silence, hunger makes his stomach cry out it yet again. He can only think about quenching his hunger. He thinks of the servant sick and it dawns on him that to get any food he must now speak to at least one of the knights. The knights he has not spoken a single word with since he left the capital. He wets his lips and with a heavy sigh, he leans out the window, just beside the carriage rides the young knight that seems so familiar to Jean. Before Jean can speak, the knight turns his head and Jean meets the sparkling eyes of the knight, a large smile spreads on the knight’s lips.

“Your highness!” He greets all too loudly making the other knights turn their gaze to them. Jean tries not to be bothered by this.

“Is something the matter?” The knight asks turning his horse closer to the carriage side.

“I would like to ask for something to eat-” Jean politely answers. The knight nods 

"Of course your highness! Give me a second and I'll be back with something." The knight exclaims, turns his horse around, and is away before Jean can finish his sentence. He rubs the bridge of his nose and sighs once again. He leans back into his seat. Whatever food the knight brings it will have to suffice. No thought can manifest itself before he hears the voice of the knight again.

“Your highness!” Jean peaks out the window and his jaw goes slack. In his arms, the knight holds a ton of different food: bread, fruits, meat and the like. He smiles at Jean with a goofy grin.

“I suppose, I forgot to ask what your highness would like to eat, so I took a little of everything.” The knight says brightly not an inch of embarrassment in his voice. Jean snorts.

“I see. I take the bread and some of the fruit.” He politely says and reaches for the food but in the instance, the knight tries to offer the food his horse moves around and the food tumbles down on the ground. 

“Shit!” Jean hears the knight utter under his breath. 

“Connie Springer, I am done with the likes of you!” Someone yells out from in front of them, Jean recognizes it as the senior scolding the young knight before. 

“I am sorry sir, it won’t happen again!” Springer says bowing at best he can on horseback. 

“It will when it’s you” the knight spits out, turning his horse soon reaching Springer. “Look at what you have done, wasting much of our food supplies, and in front of our highness at that. A mere apology from you will not suffice!” The man growls making the young knight twitch uncomfortably in his saddle. 

“’course not sir,” Springer nearly whispers. “You will move to the far back as far away from the carriage.” Springer’s head shoots up.

“But sir, I have been assigned by Captain-“ 

"And now I am assigning you to something more suitable for you. Now move!" The knight grits out then turn to face Jean.

"My highness, I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience. I will order another knight to bring you food, what would my highness like?" the knight says smiling at Jean. Jean, on the other hand, is unsure of what to do. Is he going to overlook the way the man had just treated his personal knight? Was this perhaps the way of knights?

“Uh, just some fruit,” he finally says. The knight nods and soon stirs his horse to find Jean some fruit to eat.  
Just like that the knight, named Kammak, begins serving Jean like was he the actual personal knight of Jean, and the young man dislikes it. Yet he does not know what is the best course of action. He feels like he has lost the memento to demand his personal knight stay by his side. It rubs Jean the wrong way that this seems to have something to do with the fact that Springer is a Beta. 

“My highness, is there anything else I can do?” Kammak asks smiling politely at Jean with a voice eager to please but laced with ulterior motives. It is the fifth time he asked this question and Jean is getting annoyed. 

"Uh, no, no there is nothing." Jean answers, he looks out of the corner of his eye and can see Springer riding quietly at the rear end. He did not seem to try to butter up Jean, genuinely seemed excited about his task. While Jean knows, it is all duty it was at least rather refreshing.

“Oh, well just say the word and I’ll be here!” Kammak says smiles the same fake smile. Before Jean can say anything a cold voice interrupts. 

“Kammak, what are you doing?” The small ravenette has a slim eyebrow raised, sitting on a strong piebald horse. He must have ridden here from the far front.

“Captain Levi! Sir, I was just helping our highness!” The knight explains.

“And why is it so, that it seems the personal knight of our highness is at the far back? When I remember clearly ordering him to stay close to the crown prince?”

“Sir, he has done nothing but fooling around. I believe he is better off at the rear end, sir.”

"I don't give a shit for what you believe Kammak, my order is final. So get Springer back here." Captain Levi grits out giving the knight a long icy glare before turning his horse. He begins riding away when he seems to remember something and yells over his shoulder:

“And you are out of formation Kammak, so get your finger out your fucking arse and get in position!” 

Jean thinks he hears a snicker coming from the far back, but before he can place it, it fades away.

By early sundown, the camp is set up in a forest clearing. For the first time, Jean places his two feet on the steady ground, at first he is unsure if he even remembers how to walk but soon he is walking around sure on his legs. The chatter is loud and the knights speak among themselves, two fires are prepared and when darkness arrives the fires light up the campsite.

The fire crackles loudly, the sticks bemoaning their fate as it burns until it becomes coal. Jean is standing by the edge of the camp leaning against a large tree. Animal sounds seem to come from the top of his head and by his feet sturdy on the ground, in the night the sounds belong to nowhere and everywhere all at once. Even though he is in the free world, he feels like he is just as locked up as behind the capital's tall walls. Knights are sitting by the fires chattering away, boasting about the quests they have been on and the cities they have seen. Most of all, they speak of the ladies they fancy, some have more than one, 'one for each city by the golden shore' some say as they laugh and embarks on tales that make the young crown prince's ears turn a bright red.

Jean raises his head looking at the sky; in the city, he never saw much to the stars, the light from the city, though dim as it was, made the stars sink into the dark night sky, but here under the open sky the stars shine brightly, inviting to gaze at them with awe. Jean does just that. He feels like he has rediscovered a treasure long forgotten; fairytales told by a soft voice, kind fingers running through his hair. He sees the smile in his mind’s eye, but cannot picture her face. He gingerly lays his hand against his chest feeling the golden medallion under the fabric. Something sad comes over him, like waves on the shore and for each time it washes up it pleads him to remember, and every time it draws back, it begs him to forget. 

"Your highness," a quiet voice says drawing him back to the world so strongly breathing for life. She stands more than an arm's length away to give him privacy he assumes. The night sweeps her in a blanket and her hair have grown even darker surrounded by the night's embrace. Her eyes still pierce through him though.

“Ymir was it not?” He asks politely. She gives him a single nod. 

“Your highness should come sit by the fire; it is too cold standing here in the darkness.” She suggests but then adds:

“Unless your highness likes staying away from the fire.” First now does he feel his cold fingers and the shivers running down his arms. 

“I suppose some warmth will do me good,” he answers and slowly starts walking. Ymir follows suit. 

The smoke swirls around them when he sits down by the fire. There are no chairs out here, so he has been given a couple of cushions to sit on. He seems out of place side by side with the knights. The chatter died down the moment he sat down, now only whispers are present. It annoys him, the way they act around him as if he would command them to death did they speak freely. Not long after many of the knights has moved to the other fire, leaving Jean alone said for two elderly knights that are in deep conversation.

His amber eyes stare at the flames dancing in the night embracing each other. He closes his eyes, tries to forget where he is, but then he feels someone sit down just beside him. He looks to his right and is met with large exciting eyes. Though the trip wears Jean out, Springer seems unaffected as he sits there on the ground, a foot impatiently moving from side to side.

“Your highness,” the knight addresses him smiling brightly. Jean nods, encouraging him to keep going.

“Well, you see…” Springer stars beginning to gesture to Jean, “It’s always been a dream to me, to serve the crown, so can I say that it’s a pleasure to serve you, your highness." Something broken reminds Jean of the servants at the castle, of course, it is about duty, it always is. However, the knight seems to wait for an answer from him. He nods reluctantly. 

“I see, it is reassuring to hear that my personal knight has such commitment to serve the crown.” 

"Yes, your highness absolutely! I might not seem of much but I'm great with the sword! Might say I'm much better than most." The knight puffs out his chest as he takes a swig from a leather bottle. For every swig, the young knight takes, the redder the hue over his cheeks becomes and the more he speaks. Springer tells Jean about the small city he comes from where only fields and farms exist. How he ventured to the city to become something bigger. How he served as a squire for an elderly knight that often drank his sorrows away. In the end, Springer became a knight.

“-and I easily stroke him down, your highness, he got no chance!” Springer ends another tale taking yet another swig from the bottle. Jean does not understand how it has yet to be emptied.

"Is that so," Jean says "You have fought and won many times, you really must be great with the sword." Jean compliments politely but does wonder just how good Springer really is.

“You betcha, I'm one of the finest swordsmen you find your highness! Just days ago I fought with a mysterious fencer, he was as heavy as a bull on his feet and had the strength of one, he was no match though, I’m fast on my feet you see,” Springer raises to his feet in a burst of energy, moving from side to side mimicking the fight. He walks around the fire and stares through the flames as if an opponent is standing on the other side. 

"We circled each other; I waited, wanting to observe what he'd do," Springer says as he keeps walking in a circle around the fire. Then he stops.

“But he didn’t budge, stood his ground. He definitely knew what he was doing, your highness, even though he said he didn’t know how to fence.” Something weird starts turning in Jean’s head. He again thinks of the familiarity he feels when looking at Springer. The knight, however, continues.

"I had to make the first move, tried to strike him, but he paraded with his strength, pushing me some." The knight tells and moves around near Jean. "After a while, he got tired, didn't move that well anymore that's when I knew I'd won," Springer says and begins acting out the last scene.

"Had him were I wanted him, the last pounce from him, he wanted to take advantage of his strength but I'm a bright guy, your highness, 'least when it comes to fighting, so I jumped away and he fell to the ground meeting the tip of my sword," Springer says. Jean nods a little processing the information.

"Though I'll be honest, your highness, I'm not sure he gave it his all, he wore a hat, seemed to be conscious of it, like he didn't want to lose it." Jean swallows and as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown at him, Jean all too vividly revisits a fresh memory, of the outing to the city, of sitting by the riverbank and of his bag falling down to the group of children and the young eager knight showing them how to fence. Jean studies Springers face, it is him, the knight he fought. Does he know? Jean thinks. Is he telling him the story on purpose?

“This mysterious fencer, who might he be, a fellow knight perhaps?” Jean asks, engaging in the knight’s tale and hoping that he has not been caught.

“I never caught his name, he wasn’t telling, a real quiet one your highness. He got peasant clothes on and, as I said, a large hat with a brim. Couldn’t see his face even up close. I think he ain’t what he seemed, he fought to well to be a peasant, they simply don’t know the art of the sword.” The knight says and Jean feels his heart race. 

“It is not only knights and the aristocracy that knows how to yield a sword.” Ymir interrupts standing behind Springer with her arms crossed.

“The man probably was a traveller; they need the skills to keep themselves safe from bandits and the like.” Ymir deduces with a monotonic voice and sits down on the left side of Jean.

"But I'm sure Ymir! He talked funny as well…didn't speak like no traveller I ever met." Springer exclaims.

“I have met plenty of travellers; especially those from Jinae speak like the aristocracy," Ymir says shooting down Springers argument. Springer deflates for every word the female knight utters. Before Springer can argue further for his case the whiff of food fills Jean’s nostrils making him feel the hunger dwelling inside of him. He feels certain that the young knight does not know with whom he fought. Best to keep it like that, Jean thinks. 

The sun has conspired with the air and together they breathe out hot air, the sort that makes the skin burn red and sweat soaking into the fabric. The dust has settled on Jean's boots, he sighs at the same time as Zorya huffs out in frustration she seems to dislike the hot weather just as much as her owner. After biding the two personal knights goodnight, Jean had retreated to his tent. In the late hours of the night had he concluded that he could not keep himself caged, he needed to see the country spreading far around him, places in the kingdom there was meant to be his, places he had never seen and only heard tales of. Therefore, he sat upright on the red dun moving in fluid motions, the hot air grasping at his neck and any other exposed skin. They still travel through forest, one had led into another and so Jean had yet to see much of anything else than the old trees standing with might. Lush tree crowns providing some much-appreciated shadow. On each side of him rides Springer and Ymir, the formation had changed after he had declared that he would be travelling on horseback.

They have ridden just past morning and the sun has taken its rightful place on the sky. Not many words have been exchanged between the three, it seems like the two knights like to give the prince some space, Jean has appreciated the silence though his thoughts now invade his mind. The silence breaks when Springer clears his throat, Jean turns his head toward the young man, the energetic eyes glimmers in the sun.

“Your highness, is it still comfortable to ride?” the knight smiles a little. Jean nods a single time.

“Yes, it is quite pleasant,” he answers. Springer nods a little to himself.

After a while, Springer once again speaks seemingly against the comfort of silence now that it has been broken once. 

“Your highness, do you know much about Jinae?” The knight asks looking at Jean with interest. 

“I know some,” Jean answers keeping it vague and stirs Zorya a little to keep her walking straight.

"I could tell you about it, I know quite a lot!" Springer says and smiles brightly. "Got a friend from Jinae, so I've been told lots of things." He explains excitedly.

“Well if you do not mind, I would like to hear about Jinae.” Jean says thinking that any information about the country he is now to live in may serve him good. 

“Good to hear!” Springer smiles excitedly. 

“Let me think… Jinae is known for its cuisine and how it differs a lot from county to county. They bake the most delicious bread. The eastern counties are known for their large fields of crops and fruit orchards. People from Jinae are generally very open and welcoming.” Springer explains. 

"I know more though! I can tell your highness about the country's history if you'd like?"

“That would be nice,” Jean answers though he has a hard time keeping up with the excited knight.

“Okay,” the young knight thinks for a while then he begins drawing in the air with one hand while stirring his horse with the other. He first moves his finger in what resembles a square.

“So this is Jinae-” he says and then draws a square more, “-and this is some large mean country not so far from the shore of Jinae. It’s something like, they fight sometimes?” The knight grins and scratches the back of his head. 

"Oh! And then there are the counties-" he begins drawing small circles in the air–"this is, oh what is it called again? Oh well I can't remember but there are like ten counties, I think and-"

“Please stop Springer,” Ymir interrupts with a taste of annoyance on her tongue. Springer looks perplexed, as if he wants to continue but does not dare so. Jean looks at Ymir.

"I am sorry your highness, Springer is not from Jinae and obviously do not know much of its history," Ymir says and raises a brow while looking at Springer who just smiles innocently.

“Then why don’t you tell our highness instead? You’re the one who grew up there after all!” Springer says excitedly. Something dark settles in Ymir’s eyes and she shifts her gaze to Jean.

“Well, if your highness wishes, I can tell what I know.” She says. Jean nods believing that the female knight must have a better understanding than Springer.

"I suggest, we wait until we stop to take a break." She suggests and Jean nods once more. So the silence slowly shimmers down between them and they ride on with the chatter from the other knights and the sound of hoofs as their only background noise.

They stop in the late afternoon; Jean is sitting on a tree trunk in the shadow. He is holding a leather bottle containing water. He takes a swig trying to quash his thirst. The sun had kept its hold on the air and so the temperature had only increased as the day had progressed. Suddenly someone sits down beside him; Jean turns and is not surprised to see Springer smiling at him.

“Your highness, may I sit down beside you?” Ymir asks, she stands a little away, waiting on his answer. He simply nods. She sits down with an appropriate distance between them. 

She then takes a stick lying nearby and starts drawing, soon a rather precise map has been drawn up showing the four continents known to exist in the world. 

“If your highness is not too tired, I would like to tell you about Jinae.” Ymir says and looks at Jean.

“You may,” Jean answers. 

“As your highness know our world consists of four continents.“ She points at the four shapes on the makeshift map. Jean remembers this from his world history lessons. The four continents exist of the Northern, the Eastern, the Southern and the Western continent. Trost, Jinae and the Mountain Clans are situated on the Western continent. 

Ymir continues while pointing at the Eastern continent.

"This continent has one of the world's oldest history, their cultural heritage goes back many centuries. They are divided into many countries and therefore mostly keep to themselves, often having internal problems. However, this country-" Ymir points at the tip of the Eastern continent. "-Is called Simasha, it is the closest to the shore of Jinae. The one Springer called, what was it? 'Big mean country'. In a moment of weakness, they colonized two of Jinae's southern counties. Jinae fought back and pushed them out of the country but ever since the two countries have fought each other. This has continued for two centuries." Ymir pauses and looks into the distance as if she is reminded of a distant memory.

“Is that why the military is so large in Jinae?” Jean asks. Ymir answers while keeping her gaze away from Jean and Springer.

“It is one of the reasons, yes. The military keeps watch over the eastern coast but much of the military is also used to keep order in the counties. Do you know much to the counties your highness?” Ymir asks. The young man shakes his head no.

"Jinae consists of eight counties, the capital is situated in county Seuz, and it places the capital in the middle of the country. Both the Parliament of People and the government resides there." Ymir holds a small pause; she seems to think about what to say next. She then continues after a moment of silence.

"As Springer said, the counties differ a lot. There exist many different traditions and cultural differences because Jinae is placed close to the Eastern continent. Because of this, there has been an inflow of foreign goods and culture, which has helped shape Jinae's culture and traditions." Jean tries to take it all in, there is so much that he either do not remember or was never told about the country to the east.

"Ymir, you should tell our highness about Athenos!" Springer says excitedly and then looks at Jean. "You must want to know about the county your betrothed lives in!" He smiles and Jean feels his throat turning dry as the Fallugia desert. The Duke, right, in his misery the Duke had been something Jean had pushed furthest from his mind. But here by the gaze of the knight, Jean has to face the one thing he had not let his mind dwell on. Who was the Duke? He dared not ask. So, he pushes it down in the darkness once again. Knowing about Athenos, on the other hand, seemed reasonable. He gives a single nod signalling to Ymir to continue on.

“County Athenos is situated in the southeastern part of the country. It has one of the longest coastlines and is the largest county. Most of its production and income comes from the fishing industry but they are also known for their rice production. I have been told that some rice fields are so vast that they seem to reach the skyline.” Ymir takes in a breath before she continues.

"Every county has a County Mayor that manage the county they have been appointed to, however, the County Mayors still depends on the dukes and barons that resides in the different counties because they often hold possession of much of the agriculture. In the case of county Athenos, House Bott has the largest amount of land and most importantly, they are known for their private army. It gives the Duke a great amount of power."

“Who is the County Mayor in Athenos?” Jean asks.

"It is County Mayor Zacharias. I have heard that he is well-liked by the county's residents and well respected among the politicians. He has close ties to House Bott." Ymir answers.

Jean cannot wrap his head around the way Jinae is run. Its politics seems very complex and the fact that power seems to be divided between different governmental organs is very different from the central power that he is used to. His father reigned with a strong hand, of course, there were the court members but they stood by his father. While there would be times where they did not agree it seemed to always be resolved.

"Thank you for telling me all this" Jean says and gives a small nod of appreciation.  
Soon darkness swallows the sunny blue sky and in its stead, stars blink on the night sky. Jean looks up at the roof of his tent. House Bott. He turns over once again. 

The cold is seeping through his three layers of wool blankets. Even if that was not the case Jean's head is swimming in thoughts of Jinae. Of foreign coasts with different people breathing in an air brought by the eastern wind, that never reaches Trost. Sun-kissed skin that tans much easier than the fair-skinned westerners. Its history Jean never paid much attention to. What he knows of Jinae are the stories eastern authors have placed down with ink on paper. Worlds that does not exist yet it is built by each letter clutching tightly to the next. He stares out into nothingness, blinks a few times, he tries to remember everything Ymir told him, in fear of forgetting he has even written some of it down in a small notebook. Soon the thoughts merge and every nook and cranny is filled with the ghost of the Duke. A face Jean cannot see and a voice resembling no one. Jean knows nothing about the Duke and it scares him. He does not want to think about it, but it simply cannot be suppressed anymore. The age of the man, he is to marry, he does not know and he has nobody to ask. His age is perhaps the last thing the young man should think about, more importantly, is if the Duke goes into the marriage with ill intent. Bitterness floats inside his heart. The Duke had chosen a time of weakness to gain him as his pawn. He is no man, just a ruthless being. In addition, Jean has to marry this being. He is to live his life beside him. He closes his eyes and orders his tears to stay away. He turns once again and hopes that sleep will take him.

It is early morning and the birds are already chippering a morning song. Jean is sitting inside his tent, killing a yawn. He is on his way to get his boots on when he hears the hushed voices of the guards outside his tent. 

“I’m not sure what the captain has decided…” 

“It will be crazy to travel through the Eastern region though, especially now.”

“But if we travel around it, it will take at least one more week. And we don’t have time to spare.”  
Travelling through the Eastern region? Jean stops mid-movement; the Eastern region is where every Omega in Trost lives. He knows very little of the region just that it shares borders with Jinae and that his father never visited the region.

“It’s just… you know… travelling through the region right now with all the demonstrations and the like…”

“I know, I know. Got a friend posted there, he wrote to me a couple of weeks back that the riots had increased. However, it is difficult to say how they’ll react to the Crown Prince travelling through. After all, he’s sacrificed himself for the country…” Jean feels his heart clench in anger and acid running on his tongue by the mentioning of his so-called sacrifice.

"Perhaps that changes something… I don't know… I just have a bad feeling about travelling through the region, that's all." Jean hears the knight sigh and the other turns quiet. Jean bites his cheek contemplating. There are demonstrations in the Eastern region? Why? Jean does not understand, of course, it makes sense that there will be disagreements because of conflicting interests but still, outright demonstrations seem like a very serious matter. One the Jean knows nothing about. Jean feels his head swim in worried thoughts, he feels like he cannot breathe right. He needs to clear his head somehow. He takes the other boot, they will be travelling again shortly, and Jean does not know when the thoughts will go away. Jean decides to stay in the carriage surrounded by is fairy tales, giving him peace of mind for a couple of hours, even though he knows most stories by heart.

Jean dugs his head so to not walk into a branch. It is early evening and the sun hangs low on the sky, still stretching its warm arms so to gently touch his skin. He holds a large towel and a piece of soap in his arms. For the first time since the beginning of his journey, the scouts could bring good news that far into the woods resided a clear lake. Jean earned for clean water and soap on his skin. To feel clean for once. His servant has followed him, but other than that, he was free to talk without guards, something he greatly appreciated and something that seemed appropriate since no knights should see the prince’s naked body, it was simply unheard of.

Everything looks the same as he walks further into the woods. Large beech trees surround him, the trail he is following is one from animals. It is obvious that they too long for the clear water just like him. After a while, he emerges from the woods and in front of him stretches a beautiful lake the golden evening hues colour the lake. It is begging him forward inviting him to swim in the mirror of the vast sky.

He stands at the edge of the water; with slow movements, he steps into the water. It is cold but it still tingles on his skin an occasional touch of warmth. Step after step his body is embraced by the lake. He closes his eyes and a relaxed sigh leaves his lips. He is standing with water to just below his chest. He stops and looks around him, at the strong reddish hues surrounding him. His fingers gingerly touch the top of the water, as if his fingertips will be coloured in the same hues as the sky. And then he begins swimming, further out into the lake.

He holds his breath and dugs under the water. He is suddenly left alone in the silence of the lake that seems to pulsate in a slow rhythm. Here deep down in the lake life here quietly passes Jean by. Down here he can drown his thoughts, silence them if only for a brief moment. Soon he feels the air giving up and he emerges from the water with a gasp, sucking in the fresh air. He is met with an evening greeting from the birds relaxing in the tree crowns. He swims until he can stand up again taking the soap and letting it glide against his fair skin, even though he has ridden outside for a couple of days the sun's touch has not coloured his skin. Soon dirt has been washed away from his body, the grease lacing its fingers in his hair has been pried open.

He is drying off, clutching the towel around him feeling it suck up the water pearls on his skin. He closes his eyes and feels a slight dizziness. The colours seem to brighten ever so slightly and the smell of warm dirt and sunny greens fills his nose. He feels his body pulsate just like the woods, just like the lake. It pulsates with life. The warmth starts from the tips of his toes and reaches out taking in the whole of his body. The pulsating thumps of his heart make his whole body move a little. He feels a single water pearl run down the nape of his neck and it makes him shiver in delight. The warmth seeps through him like warm honey, running down his chest, gliding down his back and curling around his thighs. But like the emerging night sky that Jean's glazed eyes daze at, a foreign smell emerges curling around and touching everywhere it can reach. It is like a bad omen when he feels a fluttering warmness settle in his lower abdomen.


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I hope you all are doing well. This chapter has been underway for a long time now. I hope you will enjoy it!

The sweet smell is crushing, it is all-consuming and it comes from Jean. He heaves in small breaths of air, but the only thing he smells is himself. He feels hot and sweat glides down his fair skin lapping him up as they travel down the planes of his body. His heart aches with longing; unknown thoughts call in his mind, they want someone touching him, a warm body caressing him. Fingertips exploring a body untouched, with feather-light finger steps over the curve of his spine, venturing further down and down and down. A small mewl vibrates up his throat and escapes his mouth. His hand flies up pressing against his lips. He begs in his mind for it to stop. He tries to tame the lustful waves of an uncontrollable ocean but he is like a small boat without any oars. Shame sinks him, holding him underwater. He wants in a way he has only felt once before, and it took a week before it stopped again. He closes his eyes. He should have known that it would come again, after all, he remembers reading that it happens every month, but he wished it were not the case that maybe he would be different. His tongue slides over his soft lips, something primal scratches inside of him, it twists in his abdomen and it wants someone. Instincts begging to be devoured. It tumbles around in his mind, the pleads to touch but his pride will not allow it. He clutches the towel, his nails digging into the fabric. He will not let his hands move down his body. He will not touch while the servant stands there looking at him. He cannot let him hear his trembling voice. He is the crown prince after all, even if he has been cast aside, even if his family is no more, he is still royalty and as such, he has a roaring pride that holds onto his sanity. Even if he will not touch, he cannot control his body. It feels like arms are wrapping around him, he feels constricted and his heart beats out of sync. He feels his pulse pushing against his throat, tapping as if it wants to escape his body. 

An uncontrollable sound leaves his mouth as a sudden pain washes over him. It takes hold of his abdomen scratching and biting like a wild animal trying to break free. Only holding his towel around his body, he clutches at it as the pain intensifies. Jean stands shaking, he feels vulnerable and something inside of him wants to get away, he begins walking, trying his best not to wobble but a wave of pain consumes him and he falls to his knees. He whimpers as the cramps continue to stir turmoil in his lower abdomen. 

"Your highness…" Jean hears the servant's voice trembling. Jean keeps his gaze on the ground, he screws his eyes shut as the pain intensifies. While his body knows the feeling of lust, it calls in distress over this overpowering pain that runs through his body. Last time it had not hurt, is something wrong with him? He clenches his teeth and then opens his eyes, the servant is standing still with a dazed expression. Jean tries to stand up but he is stopped by another wave of pain. He curls in on himself, holding his arms around his abdomen. The tears start running down his cheeks, the pain is excruciating. He does not hear them arrive before whispers flares up like fire. He feels their eyes on him, their gazes following the curves of his young body. Shame takes hold of him. Like were they chanting, the same word echoes from one mouth to another. The word stretches and grasps at his naked body claiming it as its own. Omega they chant, he is an Omega. 

"Get out of the way!" a voice rumbles, Jean recognizes is as Captain Levi's. 

"Springer get him away" he commands but Jean does not register the fast steps from the young knight before the towel is placed over his shoulders, Jean had not noticed when he had lost his hold on it. 

"Your highness, can you stand?" Springer's voice asks softly, but Jean hears the tremble clinging to the end of the sentence. Jean clenches his teeth and tries to stand up when he is halfway up his legs give out and white spots are forming before his eyes. Strong arms catch him mid-fall and help him up all while pulling the towel around Jean so to hide his body from the many disgusted eyes. 

"Let's get you away, your highness," Jean nods and with small steps, they move away. Through the wood, the smell smears up the trees and is breathed in by the creatures of nature. It becomes the beating heart of all it surrounds. But Springer continues, with determining eyes, Jean, on the other hand, does not have a single coherent thought, it all mashes together, he only feels the pain and the lust in even waves pushing against his sanity. 

Soon he is helped into the royal carriage; the curtains are closed immediately so to give him privacy and Jean slumps down on the floor of the carriage. He wants to cry out, but instead, he bites his lips until he tastes the metallic ting of blood on his tongue. He whimpers when the pain rolls in like the tide. The tears begin to creep in the corners of his eyes. Ashamed of his uncontrollable body, tears begin to fall down his cheeks and he has to crush a wail nearly slipping free. He hates this. Damned, be Omegas. 

It feels like needles the longer he restrains himself, his body wants to touch; it wants greedily all of his body consumed in pleasure. His body wants to give in, but he is strong-willed and with sturdy hands, he wraps the towel tightly against his body to close off the smells and the sounds that he hears so clearly, the low sighs from the knights now coming back from the wood. Something glides down his thigh, curling around the soft flesh as it continues down his strong calves. He shuts his eyes grimacing. He is hyperaware of the smells around him, distinct smells slipping through the cracks of the carriage, all of them touching his chaste body, dirty thoughts soiling him. He smells them and he is aware of their intent. They want him, every bit of him they want to take, to make theirs. He can smell it as it rolls off their bodies. 

As minutes become hours Jean's body lies slack on the carriage floor, maybe an hour ago or so did a deep sorrow overtake him. The pain still lingers but in its place, consuming his mind is a hollowness. He identifies the feeling as the same loneliness he felt after that night so many years ago. More importantly, his body is crying out in an extreme longing for warmth and love. It feels like a heartache that will not heal. Jean has never felt such longing and such sadness before, it hurts more than the pain. How his heart clenches, how breathing hurts. His body longs so much for someone to fill out the gaps that the hurt and betrayal have made by ripping his body apart.

Even though he is laying down he feels dizzy and everything sticks together: the lust, the sorrow and the pain. He feels like his body and mind is separated: he has no control over his body, while his mind is chained to the existent of thought. And right now no thoughts stay in his mind. His eyes feel heavy as if paperweights hang from his eyelids. He can feel his own beating heart against his chest, it sounds like a drum in his ears. He feels hot. Soon he cannot keep his eyes open, and the darkness blinds him. 

The amber eyes of the young man stare at the ceiling of the carriage, a cold washcloth lies folded over his forehead to keep down his temperature. Jean remembers little more than the carriage door being opened. He knows that Springer's hand touched his forehead if only for a minute. He is burning up. Since then the young knight has tended to Jean, helping him into fresh clothes, changing his washcloth and bringing him water and a little to eat though Jean could not stomach much. The lust still resides deeply in him and the thick, sweet smell curls inside the carriage and out the windows. They have not moved since Jean's heat began, what the others are doing Jean do not know, but he is aware that there is little activity outside the carriage. No chatter and rustle of armour. 

"Your highness" the voice is small, careful as if something might break did he speak any louder. The carriage door is a jar and Springer is holding a new washcloth in his hand; his cheeks are a light red but Jean does not know if it is from the afternoon heat or if it is him, his scent, that is the culprit. Slowly he reaches for it, he feels exposed, the carriage is the only place he felt his mind was allowed to dwell on all that is going on. The presence of the young knight is nearly none existing; Springer is making himself small, so not to scare him, at least that is what Jean thinks. The cheery man is gone and instead, Jean is met with an unreadable expression. He is closing off his thoughts Jean thinks, he must be trying to keep the focus on helping him. A question burns on the edge of Jean's throat, something he has thought about.

"Why do you keep coming?" Jean asks with a hoarse voice. The knight scowls confused.

"Your highness isn't feeling very well, I'm ought to help, where I can"

"Because it is your duty?" Jean asks, thinking back on their conversation days ago. The knight seems to contemplate.

"Duty your highness is a funny thing, I ain't that bright, I know as much, but for me at least there are two types of duty: there is my duty as a knight, keeping the oath I swore, my promise to keep you safe. But there is also my duty as a human, grandma always told me so. Said that duty as a human being is first and foremost the kindness you give others." A small smile hangs on the knight's lips.

"I am doing both duties right now, your highness."  
Jean furrows. He does not know if he believes the knight. Why be kind to people you do not know? What does he gain from doing so? Is he not simply doing his duty to care for Jean because he is the prince and Springer would lose his position did he not tend to him? Then again, the knight had always been very friendly and never seemed to care for petty courtesies. But however kind someone is, in the end, nothing holds them back from betraying the trust placed in them. Jean knows that all too well. 

"You cannot smell it?" Jean asks. The knight looks confused at first but then seems to realize what Jean had meant.

"No, I'm able to smell it-"

"It is disgusting is it not?" The question hangs in the air. So many feelings tumble inside Jean, the doubt from before he presented to the horrid experiences of life after. 

"No, your highness. Why would I think that? Truth be told-" Springer scratches the back of his head.

"It's spellbinding, your highness. I don't know how else to describe it… it is like the wondrous tales told to children. It seems almost magical, something only real in fairy tales…" Springer speaks animatic. Jean is without any words. Spellbinding? Magical? Him? 

"Now, your highness. If you can get some sleep, I think that will do you good. I'm told that your heat will intensify again so it's of utmost importance to sleep, so to regain strength." The knight says, he does not wait for an answer, instead, he gently closes the door shut. Jean is left alone again. He looks at the ceiling again, his mind is soaked in thoughts and so he hopes sleep will overtake him soon.

The night is still young when Jean wakes. While daytime is hot, the nights are becoming colder. Jean shivers. He slowly looks around; he has a hard time seeing anything only the crescent moon shines. Jean fumbles in the dark, not able to stand, it becomes especially difficult when he finds the curtain and has to stretch to draw it back. The moonlight pours in and while it is dim, Jean can now see the outlines of the inside of the carriage. He touches the seats, trying to figure out if there is at least a blanket; he stops his movement when he hears voices outside the carriage. 

"How is the crown prince holding up?" The voice is low and cool. Jean immediately recognizes it as Captain Levi's. 

"As well as one can expect considering… I think our highness is sleeping right now." The voice has the same soft tinge as earlier. Springer. They seem to be standing just outside the carriage.

"What is the plan captain? Are we staying here for now?" Springer asks in a hushed voice.

"We will move on tomorrow, the new formation has you and the other Beta's around the carriage. Be careful though since you are few to keep watch"

"Yes, captain! Of course!" Jean can here footsteps 

"Wait, captain!" It is Springer. The footsteps stop. "I wanted to ask, are we really travelling through the Eastern Region?"

"Yes." Is the curt answer that the young knight gets and Jean hears footsteps fade. Then a big sigh from just outside the door. The night's slow breathing lulls Jean back into a fading dream, of soft touches from a kind hand. The necklace still hangs around his neck caressing his chest. He knows that the heat soon will grasp against his body. He can smell it crawling out from its short slumber. The pain presses against his abdomen like firm hands. The heat first licks his toes and continues up his legs up and up and up. He scrunches. He hates this. He hates his body. He hates being an Omega.

It is now two days ago since his heat finally let up. They have continued travelling throughout his heat but have kept to the forest, staying away from cities and the like. He is sitting curled up in a corner of the carriage with a book open. He tries to immerse himself in the story but his thoughts keep straying. It will still take about a week to travel through the rest of the Eastern Region. Furthermore, it will take one more week to reach the capital of Jinae. Two more weeks and he will be married off. Two more weeks and his life will forever be sealed. He closes the book and lays it down beside him. He should be used to the thought by now, yet it still haunts him and bleeds like was it a wound just inflicted on him. 

So to push down all the dark thoughts Jean peeks between the curtains, trying to focus on something else. Outside vast fields surround them. The sky is clear and the weather is still warm. It is the first time since the beginning of the journey that he sees anything other than forest. In the two days after his heat, they left the forest and has passed many small cities but is now heading towards Shiganshina one of the Eastern Region's largest cities. Jean has until now not been able to see the city but now he does not have to squint anymore to see the city ahead, while it does not consist of an enormous castle or towering buildings there are watchtowers on each side of the entrance to the city, furthermore, it has quite the size reaching all round it. 

Soon they reach the city gates where they come to a halt, Jean cannot figure out why but whatever it is, is happening further ahead probably the knights upfront together with Captain Levi. It is a short pause before they once again are in movement and so they venture inside the city. Jean is peeking out between the curtains even though Captain Levi has instructed him not to, but if the young man is careful, nobody will be able to see him. He looks up at the sky; the sun is slowly dipping its feet in the skyline. Soon it will be sundown. 

Something soon makes Jean wonder if he even is in a large city: there is eerily quiet. No laughter, no shop owners proclaiming that their goods are the best in all of Trost. No chatter nor the sound of children playing. Jean tries to look more carefully, though it is like a maze with all the knights and horses riding just outside his window. At first, he sees no one. Instead, he notices that the shops seem to be closed and shutters have been shut. Soon he sees that some shop windows have been repaired with wooden panels. There is a burned smell in the air and in the streets, he begins noticing soldiers patrolling. They are wearing stern expressions and their hands are on the shaft of their sword ready to draw it. As he keeps looking outside, he sees people hurrying inside as if something is hunting them. Soon the streets really are desolate only the soldiers and a single rat scatters across the road. Jean does not know why but it feels like something is underway like a thunderstorm is lurking, he can feel it in the humid air that smells of ash and the chilling sparks up his arms. When Jean's eyes lock with a soldier's, he closes the curtain as fast as he can. He remembers the conversation between the two knights, about the demonstrations in the Eastern Region. Is this a result of them? With no one to answer his question, the carriage continues to move, following the curls of the city roads.

Jean's eyes follow the lines of the Military Station; it is built in dark wood and what the building does not have in height it has in length. Only moments ago, did they come to a halt and Springer had informed him that they would stay the night at one of the cities two military stations. Jean studies the building of the Northern Military Station; it has a main building with about three floors and a wing on each side of the main building with two floors. Jean cannot see any indication of a basement. They are standing at the backside of the building. They have parked the carriage beside the stable that is filled to the brim with both the military's and the knights' horses so that many horses have been tied to a long fence just beside the stable. The knights are chattering with the soldiers present. Jean feels on edge, scared of the knights' gazes. Scared that they will not keep his Second Gender a secret. It will be a disaster if his gender is found out. He clenches his fists, he hates how little he has control over, not even his secrets is his to control. 

"Are you ready to go in?" Jean is pulled from his thoughts. The cheery grin is back on Springer's face. Things between them have gone back to how it used to and Jean appreciates it. He does not need yet another person to treat him differently. Ymir keeps her distance but this seems not far from her usual ways and when their eyes meet, she always keeps a steady gaze, giving a small nod in what seems her way of smiling. No, it seems his personal knights either wear masks he cannot see through, something he is well versed in given his years attending court or they simply do not care for his Second Gender. 

"Your highness?" Springer says and Jean stutters a little, surprised that he once again has let his thoughts drift. 

"Ah, I think I would like to take with me one of my books," Jean answers, Springer nods and follows behind Jean that walks over to the backside of the carriage, where his chest has been fastened. He unlocks it and opens it slowly. Inside there are many books, as well as clothes neatly folded. He can see a white snippet of the royal wedding clothes, Jean ignores it the best he can. As he picks up a book, his hand touches the cold surface of his royal seal and he notices the scroll with the red wax sealing, in which it is written whom Jean is. The two things are the only items that can prove his identity. When they were on the road it felt safer to keep them locked in the chest but now where it is accessible for anyone in the station, Jean contemplates whether it is safer to have them with him. After a while, he decides to take them with him, putting them in a small bag. He slings the bag over his shoulder, holding the book against his chest and then makes his way inside the station.  
Inside, Jean assumption of the building's layout is confirmed. Three large staircases are leading to the second floor of both main building and wings. Jean is led up the main building's staircase and is met with another flight of stairs leading up to a third floor. Here he is given a private chamber and as soon as the door closes, Jean lets out a deep sigh. 

Having a room in a house feels almost foreign to him now. He has gotten used to the dirt roads and the sounds of nature always present. He has learned to sleep sitting or on a hard madras. Now sitting on a bed that he can almost call soft, with a clean blanket underneath his fingertips, Jean finally feels like peace has wiggled its way inside his body. He closes his eyes, darkness engulfs him but it is nothing more than a pleasant embrace. He sways a little from side to side, he feels tired but when he almost falls asleep, there is a knock on the door. 

"Yes," Jean says and awaits whoever is behind the door. The door creaks as it opens and to Jean surprise, he is met with a steady gaze and a small nod.

"Your highness," Ymir greets and takes a step inside the room, closing the door after her. 

"I would like to inform you of the current situation if now is a good time?" She asks. 

"Now is fine. Please continue," Jean answers and gives a small nod. 

"As I believe Springer has already informed you, we will stay here tonight and continue on tomorrow morning. There has been some turmoil on the street, but the military stationed here has informed us that they have it under wraps." 

"This turmoil, is it related to the demonstrations?" Jean asks. Ymir nods.

"I believe so, yes." She answers. 

"Do you have any information on exactly why these demonstrations are happening?" He asks.

"Well, your highness, they are demonstrating because of the Second Gender Laws, they demand the same rights as the other citizens of Trost," Ymir says and fidgets a little, something unusual of her; it is as if she is uncomfortable with the subject. The Second Gender Laws he remembers well, after all, they are part of the country's fundamental legislation. Omegas may not give birth to children; they may not form a bond between themselves and another person and they may only live in the Eastern Region. His father had always said that it had to be this way and that it was for the greater good of the country. Omegas were not essential for the country's well-being, on the contrary, they broke apart families, they leeched of other people and they demanded so much while giving nothing. Yet their lives were not the country's to take. That was how his late father had governed. That was his beliefs. 

Jean studies Ymir, she has stopped fidgeting, but something haunts her eyes, it is something cold and hard. 

"I see," Jean finally says. Ymir nods and then excuses herself. Jean sighs and lays down on the bed, staring at the wooden ceiling. Fighting for equal rights, is it? Jean wonders what will come of it. Did they deserve the rights? Can they even be called normal humans? He takes in a shaky breath. Is he a normal human? He pushes down the thoughts; they will do him no good. Instead, he closes his eyes again and drifts into a deep sleep.

He wakes to a deafening sound, it rings in his ears. He thinks he registers that his bed is moving as if someone is shaking it. Jean is halfway up from the bed when everything stills. He looks around while holding his breath. He did hear that, did he not? His bed had shaken, had it not? He looks around in the darkness of the room, dim moonlight just reaching inside the room. Jean gets up from the bed and just stands there unsure what to do. Then he hears it: the sound of a bell. Then another. At first, Jean is utterly confused but then he remembers all the safety drills in the capital. It is the bell of a watchtower. Something is wrong, he thinks. Something is definitely wrong. However, no one knocks on his door. Even though he knows there should be someone standing guard. The bells keep ringing calling out and Jean makes a decision. He puts on his shoes and makes his way to the door. With a slightly shaking hand, he grips the doorknob and turns it around. 

There are no one outside his door. Instead, Jean is met with smoke breathing him in. He starts coughing and closes the door as fast as possible. His heartbeat quickens. If there is smoke, there is fire. He contemplates while walking around the room. He needs to get out, but what if he cannot? He bites the inside of his cheeks. He has to at least try. He opens the door once again, this time bracing himself for the smoke that will hurl itself at him. Water wells up in his eyes when the smoke scratches at his face. He breathes into the nook of his elbow. The smoke is greyish and not so thick that he cannot see anything. He sees no one in the hallway, but he can hear voices and many of them. They are yelling incoherently while the bells keep ringing. He reaches the staircase without problems; from here, he not only hears the moans of burning wood but also the screams and yelling of men in distress. The smell of burnt meat lingers in the smoke-filled air. His senses are acute, his beating heart thumps strongly in his chest and the only thing he can think about is getting away from here. He takes a step down the stairs one after another, at the bottom of the stairs Jean can see men running with buckets, water splashing from their sides. Men are yelling, something about it coming closer and to get more water. Pearls of sweat glide down his back, it is hotter than any summer day has ever been. This must be how it feels if he was wax, being heated up by candlelight. Jean stops in his tracks. Shit. His seal and scroll. If it is burned down, he really does become no one, a man without a name. He turns around and begins running up the stairs up, up and up until his feet touch the hallway and he sprints through the smoke that has gotten thicker. He pushes the door open and nearly trips over his own feet as he reaches for his bag by the bedside table. Smoke tumbles inside the room and grips at Jean's lungs. He coughs and tries to breathe in, but instead, he just eats more smoke. He feels dizzy. His head is spinning. His brain yells at him. Find air. Jean stumbles around unable to see much through the smoke, trying to hold his grasp around the bag all while keeping his balance. The window, he needs to open the window. He spins around and the whole world tilts. With a loud bang, his head hits the floor. 

Jean only sees darkness; his eyes are swimming in water and his lungs burn but here on the floor, there is not as much smoke, it seems that it seeks the ceiling's comfort. Jean's head spins but keeps signalling him to breath in the fresh air. He sits up slowly and begins crawling on the floor, remembering where the window is. He coughs again. When he reaches the wall, he looks up and sees the window frame. From the floor, Jean reaches for the window's handle but he cannot reach it. He must stand up. With much trouble, he gets on his feet and his head once again is in the cloud of smoke. He grabs the handle and quickly opens the window. The smoke pokes it head out of the window in much the same manner as Jean. The air streams into his lungs and he heaves after more. Burned wood lingers in the air, but compared to the smoke-filled room this is nothing. The bells are still ringing but here with his head out the window, the wind carries with it the sounds of people. Jean's room is placed on the left side of the main building and he cannot see how many there are but by the volume of the sounds, he knows there are many. After breathing in air, Jean has to face that he must get through the smoke again and if the excruciating heat is any indication, the fire is coming closer to the main building. 

Jean slumps back down, his lungs begin burning immediately but he must ignore the pain. Instead, he begins crawling across the floor, soon reaching the door. He can hear the crackling from the wood; it is much louder than before. He crawls out into the hallway, though the smoke goes into his lungs, he can keep his consciousness when he keeps to the floor. He reaches the staircase to the sound of a non-human moan and then a loud bang. It is the sound of a building collapsing in on itself. Looking down to the foot of the staircase, the only thing visible is the thick, grey smoke. An unknown landscape is waiting down there and to get out Jean must get through it. He sinks something and then starts crawling down the stairs. Soon the smoke devours his body as he reaches the second floor. 

There is still yelling but the screams have for now died down. Jean cannot see much, only some centimetres in front of him. It feels like darkness has taken the light from his eyes. He crawls through the smoke trying to hold his breath. His hands touch the second staircase down to the first floor when his brain again signals for the need of air and Jean breathes in. Instead, he gains sparse fragments of air and large chunks of smoke fill his lungs, making him light-headed once again. As he places his right hand on the first step down the stairs, it disappears and with it, Jean's body begins falling. He does not have time to react before his body tumbles down the stairs. He reaches the first floor with a loud bang and it takes some time before Jean can think again. Down here more people are running around. Carrying people out or yelling for more water and more manpower. The smoke is lighter here, but Jean keeps to the floor. As he begins crawling he feels pain running up and down his right arm and knees. 

Jean tries to make his way to the back of the main building, following soldiers running in and out of what looks like a kitchen. Like a maze of moving legs, Jean does his best to get to the kitchen still on all four. When he reaches the kitchen he is met with a cold breeze, fresh air is coming from an open door leading outside. Jean stands up and with fast steps escapes the burning building. As he steps outside, the wind curls comforting around him, but the moment only lasts for a second. Outside he sees that the stable is on fire, horses are running around panicking while soldiers and knights alike are fighting men in dark clothes. The sound of metal meeting metal slashes through the air. A wave of voices reach the young man's ears, they are deafening and consume all the other sounds surrounding Jean. He turns around and looks up at the Military Station; the whole right-wing is on fire and is already falling to pieces while flames are licking at the main building. He turns around again when someone screams in pain. He needs to get away. This is not just a fire, Jean understands as much. He looks over possible escape routes; there are two side gates and the front gate. Jean does not dare go to the front gate, scared that the fighting will be even worse there. So it has to be either the left or right side gate: going towards the left side gate he has to get past the burning stable where horses are bound and in fear are standing on hind legs pulling on the reins keeping them chained. The right gate is filled with people fighting, their swords dancing in the air. 

He has no choice, he needs to get past the stable. He starts moving, the bag still slung over his shoulder, he keeps looking from side to side but he has not been seen by anyone so he proceeds his way towards the left gate. As he comes closer towards the stable, the light from the fire makes the horses easy to see. Between dark and white horses is a red dun pulling hard on her reins. Zorya. Jean stops in his track and his heartaches. She screams as flames come closer. 

He remembers all those days where he would embark on journeys together with the beautiful mare with the kind nature. She had been given to him many summers ago and had been one of the small lights that brighten his lonesome nature. When he had played with the servants' children, it had always been a relationship with restrictions, they never met as equals instead it felt suffocating. So he often ran away with Zorya if only for a short while. When he rode on the red dun, he felt liberated like he became one with her. By being by his side, she had given the small crown prince joy. A joy that with the sound of a crackling fire is dispersing. 

He needs to get her free. He thinks and walks slowly towards them so as not to scare the horses more. Out here in the open, he feels fear well up in him. Even so, he continues walking towards the horses. So close to the burning stable, the heat hits him, engulfing his body but he keeps walking closer. He needs to get to her. When he is but an arm's length from the horses does he call her name over the sounds of fire and fighting. He thinks he sees her ears move but she keeps pulling on the reins. He knows that it is dangerous to walk behind a horse but he has no option, so he moves between Zorya and a strong black stallion pulling just as hard on his reins. They have not noticed him he understands as much when his body is by Zorya's hind leg does he with a careful hand touch her mid-body. She tries to whip around.

"Whoa there, Zorya, it's me." Jean tries to say loud enough for her to hear without scaring her more. Her ears move again, but it is clear that fear rushes through her body. He walks a little more moving sideways because of the stallion beside them, who does not seem to have noticed Jean. He gulps. He needs to get to her reins faster. He keeps his hand on her, stroking her so that she is aware he is there. She tries to whip around again. Jean clenches his jaw. He looks up when a piece of the stable's roof collapses. The horses are frightened by the sound, he turns his head when he hears the stallion beside them; it rears up while neighing. When it comes down again, the stallion's body moves just a little to the side, but those centimetres are what room Jean has had to move on. At the same time, Zorya is just as frightened and Jean feels how her body moves upwards while the heavy body of the stallion pushes Jean's body effortlessly, making Jean stumble and fall but with Zorya moving Jean's body tumbles down onto the ground an electrifying pain strikes through him as his body hits the ground. When he twists around, the air is momentarily knocked out of him when he is met with the underside of Zorya standing on her hind legs with her forelegs of the ground. The only sound he can hear is a ringing in his ears. He will not be able to move fast enough to get away; it strikes him at once, that if the hoofs hit him it will crush his skull. He will die. Time seems to slowly move again and he registers the front legs coming down again. He closes his eyes bracing for the impact. He hears the hoofs hitting the sandy ground. His body begs him to take in air and so he does. After another intake of air filled with ash, Jean opens his eyes slowly. On each side of his head are one front leg. His pulse hits the side of his throat. Slowly he crawls from underneath her; she has gone eerily quiet as if she has finally understood who he is. He hopes so anyway. Her head comes down to meet the top of his head as he crawls between her front legs. She snorts but does not react further. He slowly gets up focusing on keeping her calm while finally getting to work on the reins. While it is tied securely, it is not something Jean cannot get untied. Soon he stands with the reins in his hand. He begins stirring her, making her back out.

When she is standing free from the other horses, Jean contemplates what to do; he looks at the other horses and the fire closing in on them. He bites his lip. He cannot waver, he needs to get away, it is too dangerous to try to free them all. He tugs on Zorya's reins and they move closer to the gate and look around. Finding a saddle will be an impossible task at this point, but riding on Zorya is his best option for getting away. He notices some barrels not far from them; he can use one of them to get up on Zorya. Now closer to the gate, Jean notices that the door has been bolted with a heavy piece of wood locking the gate from within. He bites his cheek, he has to open the gate and whatever is behind it, he must face. 

He pulls on Zorya's reins making her follow him to the gate. In front of the tall wooden gate does Jean see a soldier laying on the ground. Jean lets go of Zorya's reins and instead moves closer, close enough to notice that there is no rise of the soldier chest. No intake of air. He gulps. Fear tingles at the edge of his mind. Around the soldier's hip is fastened a belt with a sword in its sheath. Jean squats down beside the fallen man and with shaking hands do he unfastened the belt, he pulls on the belt until both leather belt and sword is in his hands. Then he fastens it around his own slim hips. At this point, not being able to defend himself can prove deadly. He looks at the heavy wood across the gates. He needs to push it away. He gets to it and tries to push it upwards. He breathes heavy. 

"Come on!" He grits out between clenched teeth. As he pushes harder on the wood, it ever so slowly begins moving. With a loud thump does the wood piece fall to the ground beside Jean. Jean pushes the gate open with a shaky breath scared of what will meet him. Outside the gate, is an empty street. There seems to be no one around. He hurries back to Zorya, and stirs her towards the barrels, she is on edge because of all the sounds, but her eyes stay steady on him. They get to the barrels and Jean gets up on Zorya with ease. He holds her reins and clicks his tongue, making her walk. She protests a bit moving a little off track, but he stirs her with steady hands.

"Come on, Zorya. We need to get away." He says and pats her on the neck.

"I know it is scary but we can do this!" He encourages her, hoping she will understand. 

He jabs her a little with his heel and she starts walking a little faster. Soon they are out of the left gate and out on the street. He looks around but there is still no one around. He stirs her in the direction he believes they came from when they entered the city. As Zorya begins walking down the road, the voices come closer and it scares Jean. He needs to find the main road, if he can find it, it must lead him away from this chaos and hopefully, he can also find the other station. 

When they reach the front of the Military Station, Jean cannot fathom what he sees. It is like an ocean of humans, a city that at sundown had been but few people have at night overtaken the streets. They are like waves, roaring and breathing as one moving organ. There are hundreds of people both men and women, young and old. Most of them are wearing clothes tugged above their noses and with their hands in the air, they cross their thumbs and spread their fingers in what looks like birds. An ocean of birds. Chills run down his spine. They scream of liberation and justice. They are filling the streets and Jean has a hard time finding a one where he can get through. He tries to ignore the fact that some begin to notice him. He needs to move before they get to him. He is scared of what they will do to him, especially if they find out who he is. The legacy of the man chaining them to laws.

Jean notices a passage furthest from the military station, it is clear that it is the passage with fewest people, yet they fill the opening of the small street. Jean clenches his jaw it is his best chance of getting away so he stirrers Zorya, clicks his tongue and she begins moving toward the passage. The people at the passage sees him as he makes his way over and they begin pressing against each other creating a wall of flesh. Jean sinks and jabs Zorya in the side so her strong lean body begins moving faster. The sounds rush past his ears and the wind hits his chest. When they reach the passage, the people realize that Jean is determined to get through and they have to scramble to get away from him and the strong dun. Soon they move through the passage that curls and folds but they just keep going, the sounds of Zorya's hooves hitting the ground echoing in the night. 

Not long after do they reach the main road. He sinks. Here the sounds of the demonstration are hushed and the road is abandoned. They stand still on the road and Jean looks down on his hands. They are shaking. He bites the inside of his cheek. He does not have the time to delve. He must keep moving. So they continue, following the main road until they reach a riverbank. A large bridge connects the two parts of the city. This evening the water is still and so the moon is reflected in the water. Jean looks up at the sky; the moon is yellow this evening and seems so close that if he reaches out he will be able to touch it. He turns his head back and looks over the rooftops, the fire lights up all around it and the light is so strong that even though it is night Jean can see the smoke curling into the night air. He turns his head back to the road ahead of him. When he reaches the other side of the bridge, he must navigate the maze of the city. Hopefully, he will be able to find the station, so he wishes as he takes a last look at the moon and clicks his tongue and the red dun begins moving. 

Zorya neighs in frustration, as Jean once again turns her around. Another dead end. He sighs heavily and closes his eyes briefly. He figured that the station would not be placed by the main road and as such he had made a turn down a street. One street had let to another and at this point, Jean is not sure where he is neither how to get back. 

The night air is nibbling at his skin. Here far from the demonstration, adrenalin no longer clutches at his heart and mind, and so Jean is left to his thoughts and the night's chilly fingers. Jean tugs on Zorya's reins and together they follow the empty streets. Just able to see in front of him, Jean is left in hollow darkness where nothing seems to exist. Only filled with the lonely sounds of footsteps and hooves Jean is for the first time alone. No servants that are obliged to serve him, no knights watching him out of duty. Even his last obligation as husband-to-be seems nothing but a nightmare of the morning before. 

This would seem like the only chance he will get to escape his destiny. Yet he will not gain freedom this way. He will be but a man without anything to his name. He will not survive out here in a world so far from anything he knows. He sinks. He will get his chance. When he reaches Jinae and when he is married he will create his chance to free himself of the shackles. But not yet. Just as he has done up until now he has got to grin and bear with it. 

Suddenly the sound of hooves reaches Jean's ears. They are getting closer and so does voices. His heart beats hard in his chest. Fear wells* up in him. He has stopped in his tracks. Zorya nuzzles into the crook of his neck but Jean barely notices it. The sounds seem to come from a street parallel to the one he stands on. It is difficult to decipher what the men yell in the wind but Jean believes he hears them talking about assisting the Northern Station. Then the sounds disappear. Jean carefully leads Zorya to the other street, sticking his head around a corner so to be sure that no one is there. The street is empty, but Jean notices that it is definitely broader than the one's he has been passing through up until now. Jean looks around, he has a general idea of which way the sounds went, so he starts making his way in the other direction.

Time passes him by as they keep walking down the street, he feels like he is getting nowhere. The dusty road seems to stretch far into the arms of night. His footsteps are growing heavier the further down the road he gets, doubt curls in his mind. He sighs deeply, he feels like giving up on this quest to find the other station, but how will he otherwise be safe? He suddenly sees a flickering light from the corner of his eye. He turns toward the light. Even from far away, Jean is sure that it is the light from a lantern. At this point, anything that might point him to the station is worth looking into. So Jean turns down the street seeking the light. After a while, Jean gets close enough to see a wall surrounding a building with a large gate build into the wall and two lanterns hanging from each side of the gate lighting up a large part of the surrounding area. It must be the military station. Compared to the Northern station this one is much taller but not very long. Jean squints his eyes; in front of the station stands a single soldier. His body casts a long shadow because of the light of the lantern. The young prince is unsure if the soldier has noticed him so he approaches carefully. 

"Pardon?" Jean calls out when he gets within hearing hoping that he does not startle the soldier. However, he gets no answer. Jean frowns. Is he mistaking the station for something else? However, if the clothes on the man in front of Jean is any indication, the man is definitely a soldier. 

"Is this a military station?" Jean asks when he comes a little closer. In the glow from the lantern, Jean is sure that the soldier is looking at him. He also notices that the soldier's right hand lies on the shaft of his sword. 

"I come in peace. I am here to ask for safety." Jean says lifting his hands a little.

"Don't move," the voice is hard, but the soldier in front of the young prince is still standing eerily quiet, and no words have left the soldier's mouth. Jean feels something sharp poke at his neck. He stands still, his grasp around Zorya's reins tightens, and something clenches inside his stomach. In the cover of the darkness of night has someone gotten behind him. 

"State who you are." The voice demands. Jean swallows yet his mouth is as dry as the desert so he has to clear his throat.

"M-my name is Jean Kirschtein, crown prince of Trost. I arrived at the Northern Military Station at sundown. I have escaped from the Northern station and I come asking for protection." 

"The crown prince you say… Why should we believe you, boy?" The voice says pushing the tip of what Jean assumes is a sword harder into his skin. Jean feels his bag placing a comforting hand on his back. 

"You can search my bag, you will find a letter stating who I am and the royal seal whom only the king and his family own." There is a moment of quiet before the man behind Jean says:

"I will take the bag but if you move in any way blood will be spilt, do you understand?" The warning makes Jean gulp and gives one strong nod. The soldier lowers his sword. Jean soon feels someone taking hold of his bag and taking it away from him. The man throws the bag over Jean's head and it lands in the hands of the soldier in front of Jean, whom until now has not moved nor spoken. The soldier opens the bag and takes out the still sealed scroll. The soldier examines the wax seal. Then he takes out the seal and examines that too. 

"What do you think?" The man behind Jean asks.

"I don't know… they seem real, but I've never seen such things before, could be well-made fakes." The other soldier answers. The soldier in front of him looks above his head presumably exchanging some sort of look with the man behind Jean. Something flickers in the soldier's eyes but Jean cannot tell what exactly it is. 

"For all, we know you might just have taken this from the crown prince, those items don't tell us anything." The man behind Jean says. Worry fills the young man's veins. He must make them believe him. He must make them understand the consequences of their actions.

"Are you ready to take a chance on the assumption that I am not who I tell you I am?" Jean says and continues: "If anything happens to me, the consequences will lead to a war our country cannot win on our own. You will be responsible for not only the life of the crown prince but also the downfall of the whole country. Are you really going to take that chance?" Jean tries to sound as calm as possible.

"Are you threatening us?!" The man behind Jean growls and Jean feels the pressure on his neck intensify.

"What? No! I am telling you that you should be careful about your decisions because this is critical for the country's well-being."  
The tip of the sword bites at his neck.

"That sounds like a threat to me," the voice behind Jean says. Frustration wells up in Jean. 

"No, that is not my intention! Have you not heard of my arrival?" Jean asks in distress. 

"We heard, alright. But that doesn't mean you're the prince now does it." 

"Are you telling me you do not know what your crown prince looks like?" Jean bites back, anger replacing the fear. The soldier snorts. 

"'cause I know, with how often they sing tales of him, it's hard not to." 

"Then take a better look at me!" Jean exclaims.

"You've taken note of his looks?" The man behind Jean asks.

"Yeah, but in this light, it ain't easy to see him." The soldier answers. 

"Then get closer to him." The soldier gives a single nod and walks closer to Jean. This close Jean can see a strong look in the soldier's eyes, yet they also shine with something else. Something much frailer. The soldier looks Jean up and down inspecting him. The blueish eyes meet amber ones. The soldier sinks. 

"I don't know… his eyes..." The soldier contemplates. 

"What about them?" The man asks.

"They're definitely amber." The soldier says and continues: "What if he's telling the truth? The Northern station did send a messenger telling us about the prince travelling through the city." 

"I know, I know" The man hisses. They turn quiet for a moment.

"Listen, boy. We won't hurt you, but we won't let you run free either. You will be bound and placed in a cell." Jean just nods. 

Without resisting, Jean's hands are bound with robe and the gate is opened. Jean is escorted inside together with Zorya. In the safety of the walls, soldiers are preparing for battle yet most stop in their tracks when they see him. Whispers follow. Jean ignores them all. He is lead down to a basement where he is pushed inside a cell.

"You better hope someone will come for you." The soldier that had been behind Jean says as a farewell. Then the metal door is locked and Jean is left in darkness.  
The cell is cold and muggy and the young prince shivers. He sits down, tugs his legs close to his body and awaits morning hoping that it brings with it the royal knights that seem to be his only chance of getting away from this damned place.

Jean wakes to the sound of the click of a lock and wailing metal. He opens his eyes and is nearly blinded by the light from a lantern. In front of him stands a short man with a haunted look in his eyes, ash laying as fine powder on his face. Connie Springer. 

"Your highness." The knight greets but his gaze is hollow as he continues: "Let's get you out of here." 

Jean unfold his body, it tries to resist the sudden movement, but Jean commands his body to move and soon he is standing on his feet. Springer moves to the side to let Jean pass through the prison door. 

The carriage creaks as it continues to move through the last parts of Shiganshina. At dawn, Jean was escorted to a small carriage and once again, they are on the move. As morning breaks, Jean looks out the window and observes how the dew has yet to vanish from the vast fields as they ride out if the city. On each side of the carriage are Springer and Ymir, they had both gotten away from the Northern Military Station together with a handful of other knights. Captain Levi had arrived soon after Jean's release. They had not spoken of the rest of the knights but no words had been needed. As they travel on, mourning resides in the silence that like an invisible trail follows them many hours after they have left the broken city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those waiting with bated breath for the meeting, it will happen in the next chapter. I have it planned out quite well, so it should run more smoothly than this chapter did :)

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on tumblr where I will be posting some behind the scenes and can answer questions if you have any :) Tumblr: mikoinajarfanfic


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